Nineteen Eighty One, with a Twist
by Codex Serpens
Summary: Nineteen Eighty One, with a Twist is just another "what if" story. Begins with a glimpse of Harry's childhood before Hogwarts after a chance encounter, and what life circumstances have made of Hermione as well. H/Hr HPHG
1. Chapter 1: Manipulating the Book

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any characters or situations that are unknown in the Harry Potter series are the author's intellectual property and should not be used without permission.

Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copywrite Act of 1998, this work is copywrited 2007 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, © 2007, to whom I am deeply indebted.

Standard Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. These stories are just that, stories, and may or may not reflect the opinions of the author.

Right, now my own words, not the legalese I've shamelessly copied and pasted above. There are only so many situations and new ideas one could dream within the H.P. universe; almost everything has been written about in fan-fiction, and I couldn't possibly hope to read and know all fan-fics posted on the web.

Therefore, I claim no property over these ideas and adventures, nor have I intentionally copied or appropriated material from other writers. Some concepts incorporated in this story might be property of better writers, and I apologize for not crediting them because I truly couldn't track all of them down...

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**Nineteen Eighty One, with a Twist**

**Chapter 1: Manipulating the Book**

Fate. Its restless eyes roamed the endless book written in a script so small one could place the complete history of human civilization in a couple of pages, yet most remarkable is that when looking intently the beholder would see the writing to consist of even smaller words, woven together to form each and every single letter. These words in turn are built from further tinier scripts, sentences describing the events of a chaotic, eternal universe that is as restless as the reading entity itself.

It was never created yet would never cease to be, bound to eternally scan the pages of the endless book, for that is fate's only purpose. Shackles roughly tied its every limb together, a single candle in front illuminated its partially covered face, as well as the hourglass by its right side, floating along with the book. Nothing else could be seen, no walls, no floor and no ceiling bound it in any way, however fate could never cease, never would its existence be questioned nor proven, never would it choose to be more or to fade away. It is not its place to choose what simply is.

For all its might, fate would always regard the future as the reserved unknown, although after forever reading the endless book it could guess of what is to come, again it wasn't its place to do so. And yet, for whatever reason, the unending entity found itself anxious, it hesitated and held its breath as it was nearing the end of the page in front of it. The one mortal who had the right to choose decided on his and his fellow sentient beings' future. Death approached, it was written in the endless book, and it waited patiently as it has forever done and will forever do, waiting in expectation, its task to help in the passing over of beings both noble and foul.

A choice was made. An evil vanquished by its own hand, it wasn't the first nor would it be the last. Fate read the description of death roaming the fields, collecting those who loved and deserved more time to live, sparing those who hated so much and propitiated such ending of life. It wasn't its place to choose who lived and who died.

When the hourglass had but one final grain of sand to drip before ending a cycle, fate lifted its thin, wrinkled right arm to turn it around as it had always done. The golden spec fell downwards, scintillating under the faint light of a flickering candle and fate waited for the final sound of sand hitting sand before turning the device and the page. It never came.

Looking upwards from the book, by itself an event unheard of, inconceivable by nature, banned and proscribed from fate's purpose, it realized why the sound never came to pass. Time, it seemed, had a mind of its own. Shining in the middle of the thin crystal waist connecting the upper and lower parts of the timekeeper stood a single grain, which under the inquisitive gaze of the eternal entity floated upwards, followed by another spec, and then another, and soon with deafening thundering noise the tide of sand flowed back into the upper compartment as the endless book flipped backwards on its own, erasing itself under blinding golden light and calling for fate to resume the task it was, is and will be forever bound to perform. It stood and read from the endless book, again.

* * *

Inside the second floor bedroom turned nursery of a simple house in Godric's Hollow, a young mother of red hair and green eyes contemplated her six month old baby as it slept peacefully inside the rocking cot. The room itself was faintly lit, adding to the placid, quiet and blissful atmosphere of early morning light hitting the clear blue walls and making the flying golden snitches twinkle. Harry James Potter was a vivid reproduction of his father James, facial features and untamed black hair except for a pair of emerald eyes, fashioned after his mother Lily. She was soon startled by the wailing of her baby as Harry felt the need for food, care or a bath, whichever came first. He would usually smile and laugh at the sight of his mother and father's face and wave his arms around, asking for comfort. This time however, whatever it was Harry wanted, he wanted it at once!

"Hush, hush little Harry, you're just like your father, aren't you?"

"Lils, I resent that! I don't cry my lungs out when I'm hungry... Do I?" James asked while leaning on the open bedroom door, rubbing both his eyes and stifling a series of yawns.

"Not only when you're hungry, James." She replied laughing at the face her husband made.

"By the way, Padfoot's coming today with his... What's the name again? Metro-Sickle?"

"Motorcycle!" Lily corrected, checking Harry's now empty milk bottle.

"Yeah, that thing of his! So, what do you say we go out all together?"

She sighed while staring at the wriggling baby. "I don't know, it's a dangerous time to be walking around in the open, James!"

"But I'm tired of being cooped up inside... Don't you feel like a prisoner here? Our son shouldn't have to grow up locked inside his own sleeping quarters!" James countered, not knowing how sadly true his words were to become.

At the same time early morning fog surrounded the residential buildings in Ottershaw, Chertsey; the humid air seeped through the half open window in the small kitchen from the park fields across the road while the mother rocked a one and a half year old baby on her left arm, silently begging it to stop crying. The little girl had deep brown eyes, an unruly mass of chestnut hair and no sense of time whatsoever, she had felt uncomfortable and only yelling would allow her to vent that frustration. Hermione Jane Granger demanded food, immediately!

After sitting her in a safe baby chair and placing the plastic bowl in front of her, Jane sat next to her beautiful daughter and observed the little girl, daydreaming of her family's future. Soon she found herself ducking away from offending food thrown at her with great excitement by Hermione, who was using a purple spoon for food fighting instead of eating. The recently graduated dentist cleaned the table and wiped her daughter's mouth just as her fellow dentistry professional and husband Roger entered the room. She asked him to watch their daughter while she prepared for the day, hoping to arrive at the practice earlier than the other three dentists who shared the clinic offices with them. Jane and Roger Granger had planned to alternate working days until their daughter was old enough to attend primary school.

"So my beautiful baby girl, how about some fun story time?" Roger asked while tickling Hermione's full tummy. The baby laughed and answered, whatever it was she wished to communicate was lost behind her undecipherable children language but her father understood the main idea. Story time was most welcome indeed.

"Honey, could you please schedule a meeting with Dr. Gillian for Hermione tomorrow morning?" asked Jane as she exited the room, carrying a few patient files and looking into an x-ray she had placed against the window, "We have to be sure about her tonsils before we take any decisions."

The father nodded and returned to tickling his daughter on the couch. "I just don't want her to suffer a surgery for nothing..."

"Roger I only want for our daughter to have a full childhood playing with lots of friends under the sun, not to be left alone reading a book in bed because of constant tonsillitis fever!" Her wishes clearly spoken, Jane fell into her daydreams again before snapping back into reality when she noticed the time and how late she was.

While oblivious to one another and coming from diametrically opposed worlds, these two young families shared a bond. Their children were little wizards, and while the Potter family expected it to be so, for the Grangers it would come as an unbelievable shock. The little witch whose parents knew nothing of the existence of magic was already in danger, because inside the small, isolated and tightly knit magical world, the idea of blood purity was drawing more and more supporters to the notion that only magical children born of magical parents should be allowed to understand and learn magic, excluding those of tainted Muggle, non-magical blood who are, by these standards, deemed unworthy of living. The greatest evil lay not far beyond these walls of hatred, an evil wizard who wished not only purity of blood and domination over what he considered lesser beings but mostly ultimate magical power for himself.

Lord Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, were raging a campaign of violence against those who refuse to join them and against their political leaders, represented by the Ministry for Magic. This onslaught of attacks would be reflected in the Muggle world as well, for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers began targeting Muggles to weaken their Minister's position within the community.

A sudden eagerness to demonstrate invincibility directed the Death Eater's rage against an area of the country that had never been targeted before, a particular course of action that the Dark Lord had never contemplated to follow. Ottershaw became known as the largest Muggle killing by You-Know-Who and his army of dark wizards to date, blowing apart a three building complex of residential flats, murdering over seventy people, where only one small child survived.

It was the middle of November as Roger and Jane tucked their daughter in bed, retreating to their bedroom for a well deserved Tuesday night rest. The mother had stayed home that day, and her husband had worked until past six in the evening to complete an emergency root canal procedure for an stubborn, red-faced patient who kept refusing to acknowledge the need for such measures. Mr Dursley had insulted Roger Granger calling him a trickster that wanted to steal his money but finally agreed to the recommended course of action since he needed to continue visiting his customers around the area, and a swollen face accompanied by unbearable pain in a molar from his upper jaw wouldn't make his salesman job any easier.

Lights flickered when both Grangers were about to enter their bed, startling them. When a loud rumble followed and what felt like an earthquake shook all furniture and walls inside the flat, both held their breaths. The family lived on the fifth floor of the gray seven stories high concrete building, which dissuaded them from taking their daughter outside for fear of the stairs collapsing after such structural shaking. Roger ran to bring a crying Hermione into the bathroom, the place that seemed to be safest, and then darkness surrounded them. No light switch worked as Jane crossed the door and placed her daughter inside the tub and protected her with her body, hoping that whatever caused the peculiar tremors would soon come to pass.

Several men in black cloaks and masks shouted strange words outside, they laughed as they pointed wooden sticks known as wands in the magical world, and within seconds the buildings collapsed one after the other. Inside flat number fifty-three of residential complex B the plaster fell over the terrified Granger family while they hugged each other; the floor suddenly chipped and a large ravine formed at Roger's feet, dragging him away from Jane as she held her hand screaming for him to hold. The father grasped his wife's hand but slipped away, the look in his eyes both sorrowful and frightened when he realized he wasn't going to survive and would be leaving his beloved women alone in the world. The shattered tile shards rushed across Jane and Hermione's arms and faces, forcing Jane to cover her face as Roger was falling along with half of the building, landing fifty feet below head first.

With another jolt and rumble, the bathtub slid outwards to the void, held to the half standing building only by the piping tubes that supplied hot and cold water. Hermione's screams could barely overcome the rumbling of the maimed building as it finally fell to the ground like a castle made of cards when blown by the wind, dragging them to the hard unforgiving ground. The tub landed on top of Jane Granger, while her daughter Hermione laid with her back flat against the porcelain bottom of the bathtub, eyes wide open in panic watching the glass shards and concrete rubble showering her from above.

The "miracle baby", as the little girl who survived the largest disaster of faulty construction engineering in the last decade was called by Muggle newspapers, spent almost six months of recovery in Runnymede Hospital, suffering broken bones and a particularly deep scar that ran from below her jawline towards her torso among others over her small body. No one understood how she could have survived the tons of debris that fell upon her and the fire that scorched the rubble, except of course the Obliviators sent by the Ministry for Magic to perform damage control who clearly saw it as accidental magic creating a protection shield.

Two weeks after the attack where little Hermione lost her parents, Lord Voldemort attacked in person the night of Halloween, using information provided by a traitor friend of the Potter family. The most powerful dark wizard of the times found and broke into the home in search of Harry, a barely fifteen-months old baby who, against all odds, somehow defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after he killed his father and his mother, who protected him until her last breath.

James Potter lost his life defending the entrance to his house in Godric's Hollow, when his body was found they would claim his eyes were still full of defiance, as were those of his wife Lily, who was found lifeless next to their son's crib. Little Harry Potter survived with nothing more than a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, and would be left in the hands of his closest relative, his aunt Petunia, married to Vernon Dursley and mother to Dudley, his cousin of almost the same age. It was a wizard named Albus Dumbledore who delivered him there, a wizard both wise and powerful who had yet to understand how or why this baby survived and, more than that, destroyed the most evil wizard of the century. The magical community was ecstatic, celebrations and joyous gatherings occurred all over the country, overshadowing the life altering tragedies that befell an infant witch and a baby wizard among so many innocent victims for so long.

Placed under custody of her uncle Charles Granger and his wife Claire, little Hermione was raised with them and shared a room with her cousin Bernadette. Because her cousin was two years older and quite taller as well as larger in every sense of the word, she usually stood by the shadows and went unnoticed most of the time in her new home. Her behaviour, the doctor explained, was also a consequence of her loosing both parents at a time when her developing mind could clearly distinguish and love them for what they were, a mother and a father violently taken away from her life in a terrible accident. When she asked about her parents, she was told they had perished protecting her when their apartment building fell to the ground by itself.

A few years later by September nineteenth as she turned five, Hermione was told she would be going to nursery school a couple of days a week. It was then that problems began. Playing with other children was a difficult activity, Hermione would refuse to speak and only shared toys when forced to do so, it was in late November that Mr and Mrs Granger were called for an interview regarding alleged violent reactions from their adopted child. The incident involved a toy that young Hermione would forcefully retrieve from the other children's hands by intimidating them.

"I just wanted it, and they threw it at me," Hermione explained. In fact the toy seemed to fly into her hands whenever the other children took it away from her that afternoon. She couldn't understand how it happened, neither could the other children who became so scared that they accused the so called "buckteeth freak" of bullying them. Her explanation fell into deaf ears and she was reprimanded, grounded to her shared bedroom during the day.

Meanwhile in Little Whinging, a small four year old boy was being raised with his closest relatives, living and sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs where he was forced to face his fears alone and told the lies that his good for nothing parents had perished in a car accident. His undernourished frame reflected the neglect he was put under since a very young age, and nursery school wouldn't make him feel any better about himself for the time being. He wouldn't speak or play with anyone under threat from his larger cousin Dudley, and anyone who approached him was just as easily targeted by Dudley as well; even worse were the strange things that kept happening around or to Harry himself, from shrinking clothes to uncontrollable hair growth overnight. All these events led to him being called "the freak" in his home and at school.

It was a rather warm spring day in May when the children in primary school ages seven and eight were taken to visit the British Library in St. Pancras. Harry was excited to be in a place other than his cupboard and his school, even if having to suffer Dudley's constant teasing and punching. The building itself was the largest construction Harry had ever seen, there was so much to look at that he barely kept with the pace of his teacher and his group of schoolmates, causing him to turn in the wrong direction after crossing yet another hall. It was that Monday, through the glass display of an exhibition depicting a series of ancient books that he locked his gaze into those deep, lively brown eyes framed by a radiant mane of dense chestnut hair that took his breath away and made him realize he was able to somehow connect with another human being, that he wasn't alone in this world.

Hermione had become used to spending all her time at home locked in her attic, in fact she didn't mind doing so because it meant that her inquisitive and talkative cousin would stay away from her. Her aunt and uncle had become somewhat frightened of her as strange events began to happen around Hermione at home after the incident in school, so she decided to live, eat and sleep in the east wing of the attic. Her first week in there was a nightmare, she would wake up in cold sweat and not dare to open her eyes at all until morning light shone through the single wide circular window that illuminated it. However it had been her own decision to escape the frightened looks her adoptive family gave her and after the initial shock, she began to enjoy the large space that this neglected area of the house provided as well as the occasional company of the neighbourhood cats that roamed the shingled roofs.

It was when she learned to read that her passion for knowledge overcame her, she enjoyed no longer needing to ask questions to other people and put herself in the hands of another person, she was now able to grow and learn by herself. Hermione's aunt Claire worked in a bookshop close to her primary school, and because her cousin was required to join her mother there after classes she was allowed to stay and keep herself busy. That meant reading, of course. Soon she had finished reading the entire section of children's books, and when the school teacher announced that the class would be visiting the British Library, her happiness was more than evident.

Moving ahead of her group, Hermione found the exhibit on "remarkable manuscripts" she wished to see firsthand. She was enthralled by the ancient books as she noticed a boy across the glass staring at her, his eyes were locked into her own and that vibrant green gave her a feeling of comfort and safety she had seldom experienced before.

When the girl on the other side noticed him staring, Harry's left hand moved of its own accord to the glass, palm facing the smooth material while he observed her face through the thick translucent casing. She seemed to mimic his motion, placing her right hand on the cold surface a mere second later, and raising herself on her toes to better look at him. He could now see her pale skin and her soft face that while slightly distorted because of the glass thickness still gave him a feeling of determination and purpose over the blatant sadness. It was then that Harry noticed a stark scar partially hidden by hair and clothing on the left side of her neck, running from below her jawline downwards. His heart jumped and threatened to escape his body when she smiled at him and he used the right hand to lift his hair fringe from his forehead and reveal a lightning shaped scar of his own, the result of a terrible car crash that killed his parents. The girl was surprised and moved her eyes to carefully follow the shape of his scar while she traced her own with her left index finger, before returning to look intently at him.

"The teacher's waiting for you!" a short, blond haired youngster screamed behind the girl he was looking at across the glass, Harry saw her jump and turn away being dragged by the intruder's hand. She looked over her shoulder at him one more time while he stood glued to his spot, and then she disappeared behind a large column and into a group of people and students.

Harry lost track of time as the girl's face lingered inside his mind's eye, etched to the glass across from him; for the first time in his short life he had experienced such a meaningful connection to another person. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he finally lowered his left hand while still enjoying the overwhelming moment he had shared with a complete stranger. Suddenly Harry was dragged back to reality by his cousin Dudley who punched and pushed him away. The large boy simply shrugged at what he assumed Harry was looking in, a boring glass cage with an old worthless book inside.


	2. Chapter 2: Lessons in Black and White

**Chapter 2: Lessons in Black and White**

Harry Potter had very few memories of his early life; soothing voices and warm happy feelings drowned by flashes of lightning and extreme pain were about the first conscious records kept inside his mind, followed by the now daily feelings of abandonment, inadequacy and worthlessness he was subjected to while living under the care of the Dursley family, from whom he was given a place to sleep and clothes to wear, was fed occasional scraps of food and was demanded to perform quite a few hours of house chores. They taught him he was their nephew, and Harry clearly remembered learning the names of his enormous uncle Vernon and his horse-faced aunt Petunia, as well as the name of their son Dudley Dursley, the latter being a blond and rotund child who stood in sharp contrast against the thin, smaller than average child with coal-black unruly hair and emerald-green eyes that Harry was.

He had no knowledge that his last name wasn't Dursley, nor did he know anything regarding his mother and father until he entered primary school, when he was reprimanded for not answering the teacher after the name Harry James Potter was called out loud in class, prompting him to scan the room looking for whomever had been given such a long name. Harry was further punished by his uncle for asking too many questions that afternoon regarding what the older man called "his good-for-nothing parents", forcing him to drop the subject entirely after receiving a one time only explanation that his mother and father were undesirable people killed in a car accident.

While searching for some recollection of good memories from his early childhood, Harry sighed at the understanding that he was nothing more than an unwanted inconvenience, yet not hated but rather feared for reasons he was only going to discover so many years later in life. A brief tingle of panic and fear crossed his body as he revisited his earliest memory of waking up in a dark, enclosed space under the staircase of the Dursley home, that his relatives had furnished with a thin foam sheet and an old, discarded tablecloth for covering himself at night. The cupboard was not only his sleeping quarters, but also the place where he would be banished to and locked into when he was accused of performing "unnatural actions" or for no other reason at all other than not complying with some unspecified demand of his uncles.

As far back as he could remember, playing with Dudley meant never touching his belongings and being kicked by him or hit by whatever he threw at him, be it a toy or a shoe among other household items like glasses or ashtrays, with the implicit risk that Harry could be accused of breaking them himself whenever those items hit a hard surface. This made Harry resort to playing alone and hiding from his cousin whenever possible, either among garden vegetation or inside his tiny sleeping quarters where he would keep broken toys or discarded boxes to play with until aunt Petunia found and threw them away. She never did bother to clean the spiders, however.

What he could now at almost eleven years of age clearly discern as blatant discrimination and child abuse was but the normal way of life for Harry, he firmly believed every house and every family had worthy and unworthy children and he often wondered who or how many children were kept inside the cupboards in his neighbours' houses. This notion wouldn't be shattered until many years later when realizing none of his first grade schoolmates were of the worthless kind, and yet even now, while sitting with his legs spread on top of the battered foam board that served as a bed for him inside the cupboard under the stairs, Harry still believed orphan freaks like him somehow deserved to be treated in this manner.

Spring had given way to summer and Harry was told to work on the flower beds early. He continued to revisit his life and sighed when remembering how he had learned of yet another important event in his life, his own birthday, because of a school assignment where he was asked to draw a picture of his party, including cake and candles. Children in class had laughed at him because he didn't know on what date he had been born, and therefore had no birthday. Harry asked aunt Petunia about it that evening and received a reproachful glare, followed by the usual punishment for asking anything related to his own family. Since that day he would be given smelly socks or coat hangers, or the occasional old Sunday newspaper every thirty first of July as a birthday present by his relatives.

A bang from aunt Petunia interrupted his musings and the metallic clicking and sliding sounds indicating his cupboard being unlocked told him it was time for his chores. Potting rosebuds in the front yard, Harry felt confused, angry and betrayed, yet he smiled because he had hope, if nothing else he owned that sentiment and nobody could take it away from him. Since that day in the British Library more than three years ago he had felt something beyond the ever present feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness his relatives showered him with, because he understood that somehow, somewhere, there is someone who can give him a true smile, a little girl of enchanting brown eyes with whom he shared his soul for the briefest, yet most marvellous moment in time.

Life since entering primary school had roughly followed a same routine: Wake up under aunt Petunia's banging and yelling, make breakfast for angry uncle Vernon and insatiable cousin Dudley, go to school, learn as much as possible under constant threat of bullying, hide from Dudley and his gang, try to consume his lunch in peace, run from Dudley and his gang, enjoy class while being careful not to outshine his not-so-smart cousin, arrive home to do whatever house chores aunt Petunia deemed him capable of doing, and finally be imprisoned inside the cupboard under the stairs again. The reason for all this, it would seem, was to prevent what his uncle called "funny business". Why it would be funny was beyond Harry's understanding; unnatural perhaps, strange and unusual most definitively but for Harry even growing hair overnight and popping on the roof of his school after being cornered by Dudley didn't feel so out of the ordinary. Hope had given him courage to dream, to believe that by some mishap of nature he was a good-for-nothing boy with a talent for unexplainable deeds and very musical ears and fingers.

Hidden from view, physically severed from reality, Harry remembered how he had turned his emotions and thoughts into prisoners of his heart and mind; with no one to blame for his condition since he knew no better, he had become someone who accepted things as they were, a conformist waiting for better days to arrive. It was then during his twenty minutes morning break one chilly autumn Tuesday in his first year of primary school, at the age of seven, that he found the door to the newly furnished Music classroom open with Mr Harper inside sorting and tuning the school's recently donated new instruments, who then motioned Harry to stay if he wished. The teacher had light-brown hair marred by white streaks that topped the thin face of a slim, six feet tall man who seemed to be already reaching retirement age.

"I don't want to bother you, sir, I can go away if you want," the boy said while observing the room and all the paraphernalia inside.

"It's not a bother, and if you feel safe in here, away from one Dudley Dursley that keeps bothering _you_ around?" Lifting his eyes from the half-size children's violin he was tuning, the teacher observed Harry and evaluated his reaction.

Fear gripped Harry's mind, his uncle would be very angry if Dudley were to be admonished for anything, let alone if Harry had accused his portly cousin of something their Dudleykin would immediately deny and turn around to point himself as the victim, "No sir, Dudley didn't do nothing at all, please sir I've never said..."

"It's just the way it goes then?" Mr Harper asked with a knowing expression, "Fine then, nothing was said... What about this then Harry, you help me in here for the remainder of the break and then I'll walk you back to class?"

Without complaining, Harry picked up a cleaning towel and began dusting the gleaming brass instruments while Mr Harper looked curiously at him. The teacher had expected some form of verbal complaint, or at least grunting from the child and yet he simply began working as if used to such activities. Harry was so indifferent to the world around him that he seemed to be existing rather than living.

He continued to dust and wipe the instruments as Geography teacher Mr John Dee entered the room and began complimenting Mr Harper for attaining such wonderful opportunity for his primary school, Harry didn't understand what a charitable foundation was but learned that the school had been given a donation by the "H. J. Granger Charitable Foundation", established some seven years prior in honour of the single surviving child victim of some collapsed buildings tragedy in Ottershaw; these people, Mr Harper had explained, were committed to supporting small projects related to infant education and development. Music teacher Harold Harper's musical training and children's orchestra programme had been one of many selected and supported ideas that year, rewarding him with a full ensemble of instruments, enough for a small twenty performers orchestra.

"We've never had more than these battered recorder flutes and some guitars before this most welcome donation," the Music teacher told his work colleague and added with a crooked smile, "I've blundered my chances at being part of an orchestra so many years ago, and now I've got my own!"

After the bell rang signalling the end of morning break, the Geography teacher Mr Dee who had joined them earlier said his goodbyes while Music teacher and student walked to the child's classroom. Harry politely thanked Mr Harper before parting company and left him alone in the hallway. Harold Harper sighed and turned back towards his own classroom, where the third-graders would soon arrive to wreak havoc on his beloved new musical gear.

By early May of that school year the weather had become warmer, the school patio's cherry tree was still flowered in pink and one given Monday Mr Harper was surprised to find a whistling Harry standing by the front of the class before the other children returned from lunch break, he was observing the upright piano and softly running his small fingers over the black and white keys. Afraid of stifling this unique show of interest and expression of feelings from Harry, the Music teacher leaned against the doorway and waited for the child to notice him instead.

"Good morning sir," Harry greeted while still looking at the piano with the corner of his eye.

"Morning Harry, nice to see you in a good mood for once!"

Harry shrugged and hesitated for a few seconds, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He then focused on his recent experience inside the British Library and drew his new-found willingness forward; "Sir? Would it be too much to ask if... If I could learn to play that?" he finished pointing over his back with his thumb.

"Have you been trying it already?" the teacher asked Harry to sit and press the keys from low to high and back again, then to jump along octaves. He noticed Harry's fingers moved with great precision, he had very good fine motor skills and a good ear for differentiating notes and understanding harmony.

The bell indicated time for class and the other children began to arrive, Mr Harper congratulated Harry and told him he would be sharing the piano during class with Annie Atkins despite the fact she had been learning to play since term started the year before. Dudley stared at his scrawny cousin and walked to push him aside.

"The freak can't learn the piano, I want to learn the piano!" Dudley demanded of his teacher, "Besides he's too small to reach the... The shiny things down there! And his arms are short too!"

Mr Harper looked at the chubby boy and blinked several times before replying. "But Dudley, didn't you ask to learn to play guitar, when Jimmy agreed to switch it for the violin you had demanded to learn after fighting Hugo for the recorder flute and finding out you couldn't hold your breath long enough?"

"Well now _I want the piano!_ The freak got stuck with that boring square thing and now he wants the piano but I want it!"

"If you're referring to the instrument known as a _triangle_ because of it's geometrical shape Dudley, yes Harry was content with playing it, but I believe something picked his interest and that's more important than wanting something only because someone else has it first..." Mr Harper tried to explain, however Dudley soon began a remarkable impersonation of his father, going red in the face and screwing his forehead in anger. The teacher finally gave up and looked apologetically at Harry, who simply shrugged and walked to the wooden stool where he usually sat to play the triangle.

After ten minutes of trying to teach Dudley to press one key instead of two or three at a time, Mr Harper gave Annie her time to exercise and approached Harry about his new enthusiasm. "So Harry, what made you take an interest all of the sudden?"

"I... I met someone last Friday when we had that school trip to the library. Then on the way out, there was this man playing on a very large piano and the melody reminded me of her," he recalled the girl's smile and the way they shared their secrets without words, "so I thought maybe if I learn to play, I'll never forget that feeling? But now you must teach Dudley sir, so I'll just stay with the triangle..."

"Harry you're thinking in absolutes and that's not good. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Harry shook his head, letting his teacher know he didn't understand, "This isn't about him _or_ you, it can be him _and_ you. When Annie finishes her ten minutes it will be your turn, and then Dudley and finally a rehearsal. Would that be good enough?" He managed to produce a feeble smile and nod, accepting to share lesson time and quickly learning a simple melodic exercise, instinctively gliding over all the correct notes much to Dudley's chagrin. Mr Harper took the time Harry's cousin wasted on his second turn at the keyboard to explain his newest piano student how the school trip to the British Library was an initiative for small primary schools around London, created by the very same people that donated all this equipment too, and that perhaps Harry was now twice benefited by them.

As time went by Dudley eventually grew bored of piano and fought his friend Piers for the tambourine, enjoying the feeling of beating something with teacher's approval other than smaller kids and their personal belongings. Harry instead felt at ease learning and playing the timeless musical instrument, even his grades had improved although he still took care to achieve lower marks than his cousin, or else he would suffer more of uncle Vernon's wrath. Such improvement could however also be attributed to the fact his Headteacher had demanded his uncles to provide him with corrective lenses, thus lessening his constant headaches and improving his reading abilities. The entire family including Dudley had been out shopping, his cousin would throw the mother of all tantrums if his parents bought something for Harry without adequately compensating him with food and presents of course. He remembered his uncle's bewildered face as a little man with a funny hat walked against them and nodded at Harry, who still had no eyeglasses and therefore barely saw his face at all.

Harry would dearly miss his lessons while enduring the summer in number four Privet Drive but he was surprised to find the electronic keyboard Dudley had received for last Christmas broken beyond repair while taking the trash out of the house, among other items such as a broken bedside lamp his aunt Petunia had accused him of pushing over of the table intentionally, as well as a set of depleted batteries and burnt-out light bulbs. He smuggled the mute keyboard inside his cupboard and even played with it during the night when he had no lights available, relying on his sense of touch only.

"You're playing beautifully Harry!" Annie said six weeks into term after an eight-year-old Harry had finished executing his five minutes long solo piece. He didn't look up at her feeling rather uncomfortable not knowing how to reply to a compliment since he had never received any from his uncles, resigning himself to nod briefly and hide his blushing face. Being a good-for-nothing orphan freak with a musical ear and funny-business abilities constantly weighed Harry down, he was never comfortable around people and he knew Annie would notice this and then drift away from him; either that or the threat of Dudley and his fellow bullies.

Sadly it was most likely that the latter would happen, and soon enough a scuffle that ended with a very tired and dirty Harry was the outcome of what seemed to be yet another routine day at school. It was a mildly cold morning and Harry had already performed his usual escape in the nick of time from Dudley, returning to the moderate safety of the classroom. When lunch break came Harry was hiding inside one of the large cement pipes that littered the playground for the children to play with, he listened to the chatter, laughter and yelling of the other children until a group of voices he recognized reached his ears.

"You're always speaking to the freak, aren't you?"

"Let's go Kate, we can sit over there and _eat in peace!_"

Someone snorted and several footsteps indicated they had either walked a way or rounded the two girls. "That weirdo's nothing but trouble, you stay away from him!" the voice belonging to Piers Polkiss warned as Dudley's unmistakable pig-like chuckling reached Harry inside his hiding place.

Peeking through a thin crack, Harry observed five boys and two girls. His piano partner Annie Atkins who was taller than him, with long braided deep brown hair and large hazel coloured eyes, and her friend Kate Clarington tried again to sidestep the annoying group and settle somewhere else but Dudley stood in their way. He watched as the large boy taunted Annie, telling her she was probably just a useless freak like Harry and stealing her lunch while the other kids pushed Kate to an empty bench; the blond, blue-eyed girl was too short to be of any help anyway. Harry felt his temper rise and remembered what Mr Harper had discussed with him a few weeks ago during his class.

_"Harry, Harry stop, why are you trying so hard to play worse than what I know you can?" the teacher asked, effectively interrupting the piano lesson._

"I'm sorry sir."

"There's no need to apologize again, Harry, all I want to know is why are you holding back?"

He kept his hands over the keyboard and closed his eyes, "I... I can't play as well as Annie..."

"That's not true and you know it! Annie knows it too, so what is really troubling you?"

"Nothing!" Harry replied loudly, startling the rest of his classmates who silenced their instruments and stared at him, while Dudley pointed and laughed at him.

Mr Harper squinted his eyes at Harry and turned to the other children, telling them to continue their rehearsal before sitting next to his reluctant piano apprentice. "Sometimes, Harry, accepting one's talents and abilities demands courage. Courage to do what feels right, to act when others run away, to overcome what the world throws at you and achieve your fullest potential."

Harry kept his head down, however his hands visibly relaxed when he thought about these words. He felt inadequate and worthless, fear was his motivation and the pain repressed inside him was only bearable because he knew somewhere in the world there was someone just like him, a girl who looked inside his soul in a fleeting moment in time and made his heart learn the meaning of hope. Would that hope give him courage to do what his teacher proposed? To be good at something and act for what feels right?

"You have a talent Harry. Is playing and bringing joy to people the purpose of your life? I can't make that decision for you, but I wish you the courage to acknowledge that gift and to always act upon purposes that will benefit everyone, including yourself."

The eight-year-old child took a deep breath, his eyes still closed while looking at the memory of a beautiful smile behind thick glass. Swift melody translated from sheet notation into live music spread around the room, not only a flawless interpretation but a vessel of emotions, everything Harry felt, thought and hoped for at that moment was instantly conveyed from his body to the world around him through the string instrument. Harry struck the keyboard with all his might, fingers flying over black and white as if every pressed key was another hammer blow to shatter the invisible walls imprisoning him.

His reminiscence was interrupted by Annie's pleas to have her lunch back, she was jumping to catch it while Harry's cousin Dudley held it high above his head. "To do what feels right" Harry remembered as he slid out of his sheltered cement pipe, crouching behind a few bushes to have a better view of what was happening. His classmate was on the verge of tears while the bullies continued to taunt her and call her names. A feeling of guilt spread over Harry for putting Annie in this situation, had she not been talking to him during Music class she would have never been targeted by the five "lords of the playground".

Harry mustered his recently found courage and yelled at Dudley and his four friends. "Leave her alone!" he demanded from them.

"Look, it's the freak!" Piers said looking down at Harry who was doing his best to keep from trembling, anticipating what would happen at home after his cousin told uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia his own version of this situation.

Dudley, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon broke into a race to see who would catch the freak first, a game they would appropriately call "Harry hunting". The overweight Dursley child darted behind him still holding Annie's lunchbox in his left hand and Harry ran and jumped over the bushes, turning right towards the open courtyard and across a group of children playing football with his three pursuers on tow. Angry yells at them for invading the playing field were heard before the long and thin legs belonging to Dennis McKenny stepped and tripped on the tattered ball, making him fall flat on his freckled face, crying for his mummy while Malcolm helped him to his feet; Gordon, Piers and Dudley continued their hunt after their scrawny, black-haired schoolmate. Harry managed to look back over his shoulder and twisted to his left, running along the narrow path between the school building and the wall separating the learning centre from the foul-smelling fresh fishery next door. The produce they sold was not really that fresh at all, and the place was crowded with vagabond felines who, in turn, contributed to the unpleasant aromas that usually wafted through the open classroom windows when the weather was warm.

A few yards away Harry rounded another corner, this time running alongside the school kitchens. Piers was closing on him, and Harry was cornered when Dudley appeared on the other side panting and extremely red in the face. Harry stopped for a second and then ran against his cousin, hoping to grab Annie's lunchbox on the way and reach the classrooms where he could find a teacher and lose the bullies. His heart was beating furiously, him head was throbbing with every hurried sprint and his body felt cold from the fear and excitement. Being taller than him, Dudley simply lifted the metal container and Harry flew past him, tripping over his foot and falling on the bare ground.

"Did you want this, you good-for-nothing freak?" Dudley asked, taunting him just like he had done with Annie.

The three boys approached and laughed, cornering a very dirty and scraped Harry against the large green metallic containers where the school kitchen's trash and organic waste was dumped daily. Harry stood with his back against the hard metal siding and felt the blood leaving his body while Piers, Dudley and Gordon gestured their fisted hands against him. Food aromas drew Gordon's already limited attention span away from his current activity, he lifted his nose and followed the trail inside the building, licking his lips in anticipation. Only Piers turned to look over his shoulder when a sudden clatter of broken plates followed by a woman cursing loudly came from the kitchens; Harry took that distraction as a chance to reach for the lunchbox and jump away.

Physical stress, fear and determination to escape pushed Harry's body to the limit, he was ready to do what felt right, returning Annie's lunch to her and apologizing for putting her in this situation. As the box slipped from Dudley's chubby hand into his own he felt himself being painfully squeezed from all sides and his feet leaving the ground, Harry believed Dudley and Piers were giving him the beating of a lifetime so he closed his eyes and waited for the painful, grinding sensation to stop. Feeling suddenly whole again, he managed to open his left eye, surprised to find Annie's bright pink box in his right hand and his feet on the tin roof over the kitchens. He let a loud exclamation escape his lips while staring down at the trash containers twenty feet below and the two bullies he had somehow escaped from.

"Where'd the freak go?" Piers asked Dudley after turning from the kitchen door to face the now empty space where Harry had been only a few seconds before.

"He... It... T-The... He..." a pale, trembling and empty-handed Dudley stuttered, without managing to finish a single coherent pair of words. He looked around and then heard something above him, Dudley snapped his head to the roof where Harry stood with the captured lunchbox in his hand, then he turned to look at Piers and ran away, crying for his mum and yelling about disappearing freaks and funny business in the school patio.

Harry looked down at the hastily retreating large and round form of his cousin tripping twice on his own feet before slowly peering over the edge of the roof to see Piers shrugging and walking away with Gordon, who exited the kitchen holding a half-eaten large portion of shepherd's pie in a paper napkin. He waited for a full minute before dropping his legs over the side of the roof, looking for a firm step and crawling down on a window ledge before finally jumping backwards to the ground, tumbling and falling on his buttocks. He dusted himself a little and ran back to where he hoped Kate and Annie were still sharing lunch.

"Annie, I... I'm sorry, it was my fault Dudley picked on you..." Harry said while approaching them and handing Annie her recovered lunchbox.

Kate started to look around with a look of fear in her eyes, while Annie just reached for her box and thanked Harry in a very tiny voice without looking at him. Harry understood their hesitation and walked away with mixed feelings, he was happy for standing up to Dudley but sad because no matter what he did, his schoolmates were still frightened of being around him.

History class with Mrs Philomena Knoll at first hour the school-day after next was a blur while Harry still tried to understand what had happened for him to jump from solid ground onto a roof in a single second. He had tried to do it again but failed, only managing a sprained ankle after aiming for the cloned roofing of his uncle's house in Privet Drive, where all houses repeated an orderly and repetitive architecture. Dudley had lied to his parents about Harry hitting him unprovoked and then disappearing right in front of him, landing on the school's roof. Nevertheless, the stupefied and panic-stricken face on his cousin was more than worth the retaliation from his uncles; they had locked Harry inside his cupboard for a full day, sending an excuse that he was too sick to go to school. Aunt Petunia had also demanded that Harry spent all his time outside, only going in for his household chores or to walk inside his cupboard besides the obvious bodily needs that require the use of a loo.

The rest of the school year continued under the same routine, except for Dudley being rather panicky whenever he found himself alone with Harry, preferring to always walk the playground or the patio escorted by his quartet of bully friends. Music class continued and Mr Harper had Annie and Harry sharing the upright piano, although Harry showed a more natural ability than the repetitive mechanical performances Annie would display; he avoided speaking with her, or anyone else for that matter, in order to keep her out of trouble. Harry continued to be ignored in all other classes, only receiving praise from Mr Harper who had a pointed interest in having him develop his talent, which blossomed during the summer holidays even in the absence of a real keyboard since aunt Petunia had discovered Harry's smuggled mute electronic piano and thrown it away.

Summer was spent as usual, wandering the street, doing gardening, hiding from Dudley and spending his cousin's birthday a few blocks away in the company of an old lady whose home smelled of cabbage and had an old, poorly tuned upright piano against an unused corner of her dining room, covered with pictures of cats and other knick-knacks. Harry truly enjoyed the smiles on the face of old Mrs Arabella Figg, who didn't seem to notice the off-key notes her instrument delivered and instead relished on whatever music Harry performed that day, from a simple romantic sonata he had learned in school to an impromptu jazz beat he had heard played on the telly while locked inside his cupboard.

September brought autumn along with the start of primary school term, Harry had once again celebrated his birthday, his ninth this time, physically alone but remembering a girl with chocolate eyes and clinging to the unwavering hope she gave him without a single spoken word. Children in school still kept their distance from him, Dudley and his friends were no less a threat than the two previous years and the fact that Harry had somehow erased all his classmates' written notes by the end of the first day of class, including those taken with ink pens, was yet another contribution to his lack of peer friendship. It happened because Dudley had started teasing Harry about him having to search the playground for some lost pencil stub because his good-for-nothing parents had left him poor and alone, he lost his temper and his hands trembled while his heart raced. Harry willed his rage to subside to no avail, peaking when his cousin commented how Harry's parents surely could not even read. "You're the one who can't read at all, Dudleykins!" he thought and a sudden wind rustled the paper on several spiral notebooks around the room, effectively erasing anything carefully written or hastily scribbled in them, including margin doodles.

Their history teacher Mrs Knoll, a plump woman who appeared to be as old as the Queen Mother herself in the opinion of most classmates, didn't believe what her pupils tried to explain about self-erasing notes, concluding instead that all students had decided to rip the pages from their notebooks and fake this odd event in order to be lazy and avoid working at home, prompting her to punish the class by tripling their homework, over cries of protest and deep whining from the children.

"This is your fault, isn't it? I'm telling mum and I _won't_ do any homework," Dudley crossed his thick arms and scrunched his wobbly face. Closing his eyes, Harry let his head fall on his chest and resigned himself to whatever yelling and shouting he was about to receive from his aunt Petunia and his uncle Vernon that evening.

"Boy! I told you _no_ freakish behaviour!" Vernon Dursley screamed the instant Harry's aunt Petunia closed the front door. "It's the first day of school and the useless boy's already giving us trouble!"

"The freak did it! He... He erased everything I wrote dad!" fake tears streamed down Dudley's wide face, who in fact couldn't care less about learning anything in class, and would only miss a dozen or so misspelled words.

"My little Dudleykins has never failed to be best pupil in school, and you boy are going to do his homework for him to compensate for this funny business of yours!" Petunia demanded.

Harry sighed and simply nodded at his aunt's horse-shaped angry face, thinking it was going to be a very long year indeed. He finished his cleaning duty and took Dudley's already crumpled and battered notebook to write the assigned homework for him and then his own, before being locked inside the oppressively small cupboard under the stairs. Nightmares invaded his sleep that night and Harry woke under the desperate echoes of a woman screaming inside his mind, he didn't understand the words but the feeling of anguish ripped through his heart, it was still dark and he pushed his knees up to his chest, turning on his left and huddling in the narrow space where the underside of the steps reached the floor, wishing for daylight to come rescue him soon.

Months flashed before Harry's eyes and he soon found himself celebrating Christmas, or at the very least listening to his aunt, uncle and cousin celebrating, eating and sharing presents, both of which Dudley was the major recipient. Harry often wondered if Dudley could perhaps continue to grow forever and would eventually consume all the available food in the world, causing the doom of mankind single-handedly.

The weather had unexpectedly turned very cold one Tuesday in early February, heavy snowfall forced the teachers to keep all their pupils inside the school building. They were playing games during morning break in the corridors when a thin, black-haired boy rushed downstairs and over a couple of second-graders clutching his spectacles in his right hand, followed by Dennis McKenny holding his hand up to his bleeding nose, Piers Polkiss slipping on the cold floor bare-footed and a red-faced, panting Dudley Dursley who seemed to emit a loud whistle sound with every heavy breath he took.

Harry had been wondering if he would find adventure someday, ever since the assignment Ms Victoria Vowel had given them from daily newspaper clippings, however as usual for him, it was only trouble that would quite soon manage to literally fall on his head! Their young English Language teacher Ms Vowel had arrived carrying a huge amount of periodicals and tabloids in front of her, effectively hiding her beautiful blue eyes and facial features, explaining they were to work in groups of three and extract all important information from an article of her choosing, later presenting a brief play of the reported event in front of the class. Harry was paired with Rose Meadows, whom he had never ever traded a single word with and avoided him like the plague just like all the other children, plus William Button, a wide-faced blond boy who never stopped talking, his greatest effort in class was to keep his mouth quiet but even then he was usually muttering something under his breath, either to himself or across the table to anyone who had the misfortune of sitting close to him.

Dropping a copy of the Sunday Times on Harry and William's desk, the thirty years old pedagogue pointed to an encircled headline: Child uncovers and disbands animal trafficking operation. The text reported how a girl aged ten had helped the Metropolitan police to identify and then imprison several people, in the United Kingdom and abroad, who were implicated in smuggling and mistreating rare animal species. Exemplars recovered included South American birds, Asian monkeys and African crocodiles, all hidden inside imported furniture and trunks.

While William, or Bill for short, continued to ramble about a story between his great-grandfather and a camel in Morocco, Harry tried to finish reading the article and had the idea of using the cello case from the school orchestra to hide an animal inside, and have Bill play the part of a policeman, using a whistle they could ask from the Physical Education teacher.

"Bill... Bill, listen..." Harry tried to have his partner's attention for a few seconds to explain his idea, "Bill!" he repeated, to no avail.

"Ye know, me and me dad 'ave always find that story kind o' strange but 'ere really are camels in Morocco!" the boy said, taking a deep breath to continue his tirade.

"I'm going to play the girl, of course, Harry will be the smuggler and you Bill are going to be the policeman. Is that fine with you?" Rose explained over the never-ending ranting.

"Sure, 'ere must be elephants too, but me grampa says that's got nuthing to do with camels. Did ye know them camels 'ave four legs just like 'em horses?"

With a deep sigh and shaking his head, Harry left his chair and walked over to Ms Vowel, leaving Bill babbling at Rose who had the misfortune of being behind him when the teacher chose the working groups. Harry saw her desperately burying her head between her arms while he explained his idea to the English teacher, asking her for permission to retrieve the necessary props for the presentation next week. Ms Vowel in turn was very pleased to see Harry excited about class assignments for once, she had always seen him quiet in his seat, introverted and never participating in class, or speaking at all for that matter. She agreed with him and told Harry to look for whatever materials he needed and she would speak with the rest of the teachers.

So it was that young Harry had been given permission to enter one of the school storage rooms during morning break, looking for the enormous cello case that would allow him to smuggle an endangered species, a kitten he had captured wandering around the fishery next to the school; keeping the tiny feline at his aunt Petunia's immaculate and sanitized house was unthinkable, therefore he had enlisted help from one of the elderly kitchen assistants to keep it well fed and hidden. This storage room was located next to a cleaning supplies closet, bur unlike the latter it had a small aluminium framed window that provided enough light to navigate inside the cramped space. Several rusty metallic shelves on the right wall held cardboard boxes and several cases, old footballs and moth-eaten mats, as well as dusty books and several lost-and-found items from pencils to trainers. Above one of the pair of wooden cabinets standing left of the small window sat the required larger-than-Harry instrument case he had been allowed to use, he shook the first cabinet once to see how sturdy it was and climbed up the first shelf, then placed his feet on the second and extended his right arm to find the handle of the case and pull it.

"He's in here!" somebody yelled from the corridor and tried opening the door. "C'mon freak, get out of there!"

Harry startled and only managed to whisper "Oh, bother!" before losing his balance and pulling the cabinet along over him, a mere second later he was falling backwards followed by a sea of unsorted heaps of boxes, sporting equipment and odd, mismatched clothing items. Painfully landing on his backside, Harry looked up to see the dangling cello case as it kept swinging back and forth on the edge of the remaining upright cabinet. He tried to crawl under the fallen cabinet and accidentally kicked the second standing wooden storage furniture in his haste, unbalancing the teetering case over the edge; feeling the impending hit Harry flinched and closed his eyes tightly, expecting the big instrument case to squash his head. The considerable pain he was anticipating never came, save for a slight ruffling in his hair and a crashing sound, causing Harry to wonder for a fleeting moment if he had actually died on impact.

Three boys kept pulling the door handle until finally remembering that it actually opened towards the inside of the room instead of outwards to the corridor. Piers pushed in and stopped, followed by Dennis and Dudley who bumped into each other. Harry sat frozen upright among piles of nondescript items and rubble, opened one eyelid to see who it was at the door and recognized only three lords of the playground as they elbowed each other for a good view; he was thinking that his cousin Dudley and his friends were the most unlikely people to greet him in the afterlife, if there was such a thing in the first place, before the tallest boy started to scream.

"My toys!"

"My monies!" said another.

"My sweets!" complained Dudley.

"He's stealing our stuff!" the three boys finally said together, throwing angry glares and scrunching their faces trying to look frightening.

The big instrument case laid open on the floor, but instead of the expected emptiness it contained dozens of wrapped candies, die-cast miniature cars and worn-out coins among other toys and sweets. Harry understood he had unwillingly discovered where the bullies hid the things they kept stealing form the other children; generous lunch money from unsuspecting parents, hard-earned candy from well-behaved children and prized toy possessions that must have been forcefully taken from younger or smaller boys and girls who kept their silence out of fear or shame, perhaps even both.

"I'm not stealing anything, _you_ are!" Harry stated, deepening his already flared temper.

"Shut up freak! I'm telling my dad--" Dudley failed to continue his yelling after a shining, small blur flew straight into his partially open mouth. He gasped for air and brought both hands to his throat, startling the other children inside the crowded storage room when every exhaled breath began sounding a high pitched whistle characteristic of a standard referee's instrument. The whistling became louder as Dudley became redder, his exasperation reflected by his stomping feet and throbbing temple.

Still cross-legged on the cold floor and half buried by boxes and innumerable things, Harry focused on escaping and wondered if the missing bullies Gordon and Malcolm were waiting to trap him outside. He crawled under the toppled cabinet and tied Piers' trainers together while he and Dennis kept hitting Dudley heavily on the back, trying to expel the whistle lodged in his windpipe. Harry was about to do the same to Dennis when they noticed him; he looked up at the three dumbfounded faces with a grin and turned, running as fast as he could down the slippery corridor.

"He's running away!" Piers tried to sprint after the thin boy but his left foot wouldn't advance, tripping him head-first into Dennis' rather prominent nose, who staggered backwards crying and pulling Dudley with him down to the floor. Removing his tied-up trainers, revealing a pair of very foul-smelling white socks with large holes in them, Harry managed to watch Piers lifting Dudley with his crying friend Dennis and calling for their two friends, who had been standing guard on the other side of the corridor. They told Malcolm and Gordon to take the coins, candy and toys and hide them somewhere else, while the other three bolted forward in yet another "Harry hunting" game.

The larger boys quickly used their longer legs to reach Harry, who had removed his round-framed eyeglasses from his face to avoid losing them. They ran through an assembled group of children who had been playing games and doubled another corner, this time headed for a closed secondary entrance door. Harry assumed the wind outside had knocked it open while he approached and ran straight to it, ignoring the loud screams behind him.

"I need to do it again! I need to fly to the roof!" was all harry could think of. He made it outside and descended the four snow-packed steps with his cousin only a couple of yards behind. Thinking now was as good a time as any, Harry closed his eyes and jumped, hoping to land on the roof as he had done one year ago.

Dudley continued his intermittent whistling all the way outside to the patio, following Dennis who was still crying and gingerly touching his bleeding nose; Piers had remained inside the building claiming his toes would freeze in the snow and "the freak" wasn't worth the trouble. They kept watching Harry after he leaped and twisted in the air, landing heavily over a puddle of frozen mud with a loud thumping sound, and took the chance to pin him down on the ground.

"You b'oke my noze, f'eak! I'm te'ing my mum..." Dennis whined, accompanied by a loud whistle from Dudley who also nodded in agreement, since he couldn't speak.

Harry felt the freezing mud through his thin clothing and tried to slip away from his chasers; the squeezing sensation he had expected before never came, nor did he land anywhere other than right in front of him. He was being held by two pairs of arms, with no possibility of escape until the life-saver ringing of a bell turned imminent doom into a stressful dtente for a couple of seconds.

"You four," spoke Headteacher Jenkins in a loud, commanding voice, "walk with me, now!"

Mr Jenkins was a stern looking man, always wearing brown suits and sporting a short, respectable haircut. He had no name that Harry was aware of, and his nameplate on the desk simply stated his position, "Headteacher". The walls of his office had no certificates with his name or pictures of any kind either, nothing adorned the dull cream colours beyond a tall cabinet for files and a coat hanger to the left of the door.

Before anyone spoke, Harry told the Headteacher how he had been to the storage room to retrieve a cello case for an English class assignment and fell trying to reach it, at that moment Dudley and his friends had seen him and began to chase him around. The three larger boys simply nodded their heads in agreement, but then Dudley pointed at his throat and blew the entrenched whistle a couple of times, waving his arms around and jumping from foot to foot, resembling a curious sort of overgrown, pink and quasi-hairless chimp.

Harry failed to mention the stolen goods he had found, he knew the boys would deny it and besides, Gordon and Malcolm had surely hidden everything somewhere else by then. He also knew that his uncles would side with anything Dudley told them, and it discouraged him from revealing that information to his Headteacher. Courage to do the right thing had been promptly squashed by the prospect of a glum immediate future.

The following day, as expected, the large instrument case was devoid of any sweets, toys and coins. Nobody had bothered to organize the neglected storage room when Harry returned to gather the necessary props for his group's English class presentation. Dudley had been excused from school until the following week, pending a minor tracheal surgery to remove a silver metallic referee's whistle he had somehow swallowed during classes, as the Headteacher had explained the event to aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, who nevertheless took an askance look and glared at Harry with a shaking moustache and a throbbing temple.

Locked inside the dark cupboard under the stairs once again for "hurting innocent little Dudley with his freakish funny business", Harry lay curled on his side and cried, hummed and dreamed of better days, of rescuing arms and caring eyes; he longed for a real home where people didn't fear or hurt him. Number four Privet Drive itself was a poor rendition of a home, it was of course an immaculately clean house with manicured gardens and discrete colours in conformity to the established expectations of its neighbours, but despite the living family of three plus one nephew, nothing reflected the existence of its inhabitants inside the sterile building. Vernon Dursley ruled his family to fulfil the standards of normalcy, unable to imagine a life outside the boundaries of what is ordinary, and therefore correct in his view. How normal it was to mistreat a little boy by locking and starving him never seemed to be a valid question for him, however.

Spring arrived soon to perpetuate the life-giving seasonal cycle, giving a little black-haired boy a rare moment of peace and a moderate degree of freedom for an instant in time. Harry sat cross-legged, basking in the morning sunlight on top of the school kitchens, the place he had never been able to "fly over" again but found a way to climb nevertheless. He had another seven minutes or more before morning break ended and classes resumed with his cousin Dudley, who was still the usual threatening bully towards him and others in school, perhaps even more so after the whistle incident. Harry kept his eyes closed while facing the faint sun behind the sheet of clouds, replaying a beautiful piano composition by Schubert called Wanderer-Fantasie he had listened to in Music class the week before, and reaffirmed a conscious decision to surmount his inherited worthlessness, like Mr Harper had said "it takes courage to overcome what the world throws at you", and he was determined to do so, if not for his own sake, then for that of a smiling brown-eyed girl who visited his dreams and helped keep the nightmares away.

"Welcome class, let's settle in and rehearse," Mr Harper commanded as soon as Harry found his way inside the room, "and Annie, please remember Harry is learning only here at school, he doesn't have a piano at home like you, so keep pushing him forward, okay?"

"Maybe I shouldn't be-" Harry began his excuse but was cut by his teacher.

"Stop Harry! You have a talent, I'm sorry your family doesn't see it, but I'll say it again. You are a natural player and you aren't a burden for Annie or me! Now strike those keys and have fun!"

Harry did have fun until the very end of term, he was granted access to the Music Classroom during breaks for study purposes and now he could choose to either climb to the roofs or lose himself in the wonderful world of music to escape his ever bigger cousin. Only a week before last day of school, Mr Harper announced his intention to participate in a musical contest due to be held in the spring of the following year, and he wanted to form an infant piano and violin duet performing a piece by the notable Albert Ketlbey, in an appropriate arrangement for the children's current skills, as well as present either Annie or Harry playing a very patriotic piano sonata by Sir Edward Elgar, Land of Hope and Glory. Everyone agreed, however Harry explained he wouldn't be able to rehearse at all during the summer, to what his teacher merely waved and told him not to worry, he turned and gave Harry a very old binder, a box of magnetic tapes and the school's tattered portable cassette player with a set of half-broken headphones.

"I've already discussed with your aunt to allow you to attend summer classes here, she said it'd be acceptable if it entailed no monetary fees and you managed to complete your house chores, whatever they are because she wouldn't tell me?" He expected an explanation from harry, but was forced to move on after none came from the child's sealed lips. "These scores were... Well they're a few of my books when I was a student, I want you to peruse them at your pleasure and enjoy the music in those tapes." He was still holding the binder, and let go of it reluctantly with a nod to Harry.

"Thank you sir."

"You may not feel like thanking me afterwards Harry, some of these works aren't easy... Not easy at all," he explained while looking away from his pupil, "so remember to let the music _flow from yourself_, never let it command you instead. Music is magic Harry, it can heal a broken heart as well as frighten it to death..." he trailed off with a distant look in his eyes.

"Magic sir? Uncle Vernon says there's no such thing. He'd laugh at you just for saying that Mr Harper!"

"He'd do more than laugh, wouldn't he? But then again, I guess he's never found it in himself to look beyond his own nose... To look at the magic you can offer, Harry."

Harry gulped and felt the blood leaving his face, wondering if Mr Harper had somehow seen how freakish things happened around him, or found him trying to repeat his flight up the school kitchens. "Do you believe in magic sir? I mean real magic?"

The teacher looked at him with a crooked smile. "Real magic? What could be more magical than Holst's ability to ferry us through the heavens above? Or our Englishman fellow Dowland's ancient yet timeless songs of joyful spirits and laments of the heart? No Harry, I can't say that I believe in greater or more real magic than that which I experience in music. What I do believe, is that you have the talent to express this magic, and that you must train very hard to win that contest for our school next spring, okay?"

"Yes sir. I'll do that," Harry answered with a nod, both relieved and saddened by what Mr Harper considered magic to be.

Meeting his teacher during the summer holidays was an opportunity to escape the Dursleys Harry couldn't refuse. Besides, he had access to a piano and that was more than enough incentive for him. They met on Mondays and Thursdays, the school was almost deserted except for those few children attending summer courses or sports classes; no one had been interested in music lessons despite the early announcement. It was during one of those bus rides with aunt Petunia that an old woman wearing strange green clothes nodded at him, he turned to ask his aunt but received a glare that conveyed "do not dare to ask" in return.

Happily for Harry his tenth birthday fell on Monday and it was a treat he would hardly ever forget to have had the happy birthday song played for him by Mr Harper for the very first time in his life. His uncles had surprised him as well with the usefulness of their present that year, he was given a worn-out curtain to use as a blanket, in replacement for his shredded piece of fabric that was once a flower-patterned over light blue almost hole-free tablecloth. Harry's new blanket was pink with broad yellow stripes, each one etched with rows of little chirping birds.

It was towards the end of August however that Mr Harper had began to arrive quite agitated to their lessons. Detecting mood changes had become an instinctive second nature to Harry as a defence mechanism, having grown up on the receiving end of uncle Vernon's temper, and the young boy soon began to believe he wasn't making enough progress or was simply not as talented as his teacher thought he would be, attributing his tutor's swinging between irascibility and euphoria to his own failure.

"Go on Harry, just play at large, whatever comes across your mind," Mr Harper instructed while wobbling a little and finally sitting on a backwards chair, elbows resting on the back and fingers massaging his temples.

The sad, almost despairing melody that sprang from the piano seemed to startle the old musician at once, Harry glanced to his left and noticed how Mr Harper seemed ready to ask something, twice opening his mouth without a sound, however he simply shook his head and rested his forehead over folded arms. Yes, Harry understood this as confirmation he wasn't fulfilling his teacher's expectations at all.

Only when the 1990 Fall School Term started did Harry feel his spirits lift, if just a little, because he no longer had to spend so much time meandering the short Little Whinging streets and embellishing its neighbour's gardens for little money while aunt Petunia's garden was free of charge, of course; nor doing absolutely nothing and simply steaming inside his cupboard listening to the same music tapes over and over again. Offering his gardening services had been a good idea for affording school supplies such as pencils and a notebook, and maybe the occasional treat, except uncle Vernon found out about it after the first holidays week and demanded his percentage as business promoter. His idea of promoting Harry to the neighbours was to present his nephew as an incorrigible young offender who needed something to keep his delinquent traits at bay, hence the cheap, heavy labour.

Young Harry's class had the misfortune of using one of the classrooms facing north this year, towards the very smelly fresh fishery that stood next to the school, a locale whose aromas permeated the area and wafted through the necessarily open windows, given the still warm temperatures. Sitting by the window and trying his best not to be overly sick, Harry bolted quick as lightning from his seat towards the welcoming, rotten-fish-smell-free corridor as soon as the bell rang. He was just walking by the teacher's lounge when a part of the conversation caught his immediate attention.

"...older Harold got I hoped the wiser he'd become, I've got no choice but to terminate him if he arrives like this again!" huffed a voice Harry could easily relate to his school's Headmaster.

"Surely Albert, but he's done so much for the school, what with the Granger donations he attained and all the benefits that came with it?"

"Yes, yes, now hush little kitten, and meet me in my office after four, would you? I must go before the teachers arrive..."

Harry chanced a glance through the half-closed door in time to watch Mr Bullion kissing Ms Flores, an assistant secretary who had taken care of him more than twice while waiting with Dudley for his aunt and uncle to arrive, summoned after whatever altercation the children had been involved in. Ms Flores used to give him a bar of chocolate or another delicious piece of candy he would never ever dream of affording or being given by his relatives, while Dudley usually received nothing but an earful from her, followed by something in her native Spanish that sounded like "ares deemaceadow gerdow", whatever that meant.

Having witnessed adults kissing before, Harry understood this as a sign of affection. His uncles had never kissed each other, at least not in front of him, yet most other children's parents were keen to do so in the morning as they accompanied their sons and daughters to school. These two adults however were taking a very long time to kiss and they kept trying to hug one another in several different places, something he had never seen before at all.

He turned around and made his way to the playground outside, thinking about Mr Harper and what sort of troubles he had that made Mr Bullion threaten him with termination. Whatever his Music teacher had done, he didn't deserve to be killed, Harry thought while his feet carried him to the side wall of the kitchens and climbed to find his secluded spot on the roof, from where he had a laugh watching Dudley's recent haircut, which in his opinion made the veritable image of a pig-in-a-wig out of his blond, pink and rotund cousin.

Finding the Physical Education teacher substituting for Mr Harper in Music class gave Harry a rightful scare, he thought maybe Mr Bullion had already terminated him and his body would be found in the Thames within the coming days. Saddened by the apparent loss of the only adult to have ever noticed anything good in him, he went to his piano partner Annie and put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"A-Annie? I think you should know, I heard the Headmaster talking about terminating our teacher... I think he's already dead..." he whispered while looking at the linoleum floor.

"What?" she asked while covering her mouth with her right hand. "Why'd you say that?"

"Because you know, termination means death..." Harry answered as if this was common knowledge and his schoolmate should be aware of such word.

To his surprise, she began to chuckle behind her hand, soon she brought both hands to her face and broke into a laugh. "Harry, that's not what it means. Termination means to lose a job, I listened to my mum say so this summer," she explained, "so don't worry, he ain't dead, probably just looking for work..." Annie took a deep breath and continued to laugh as Harry stared at her.

"But... But my uncle's always said termination is death, that he'd die if he got terminated and how it killed other people where he works..." he explained, feeling utterly embarrassed and withholding how he had overheard such conversation from his secluded space under the stairs.

As expected Mr Harper did return to teach his classes, very much alive. He was in a more gentle and amicable mood as was his usual self, unlike those last summer weeks when he seemed distraught, and within the month had selected the three most talented fourth-graders, two pianists and one violin player. Harry continued to put his best efforts and enjoyed playing from Beethoven's Fr Elise to the latest pop music hit on the radio and back, while also rehearsing the chosen Elgar and Ketlbey works with Annie and Clara Smith on the violin. Clara was from Harry's perspective a very, very tall girl with short, braided hair who had always vehemently refused to speak with him, but despite that lack of communication they still managed to rehearse and young Harry felt happy that his teacher was acting himself again after assembling what seemed to be a very promising group of child musicians, while also feeling a little more confident of his own talents.

Late September blew red and brown fallen leaves all over the school grounds, a sight Harry admired fondly through his class windows but dreaded as well, because of the effort it took to collect and dispose of the endless amounts of undesired leaves from aunt Petunia's garden. It was Monday morning and Mrs Knoll, the History teacher, was interrupted about a quarter of an hour before the end of class by a frantic looking Ms Flores suddenly opening the door and whispering urgently with the teacher.

The class was happy to be dismissed from the boring lesson ten minutes earlier to their morning break, Dudley and his two friends were even happier since it gave them more time to have their fun with the smaller children. Harry had taken the habit of diverting his cousin's attention whenever he picked upon those too young or too small to defend themselves, shouting at him and then making use of his lithe frame to sprint away around the patio and the school yard, careful not to run too fast or else they would lose interest and chase someone else.

As Harry rounded a school corner, he saw a group of teachers including Mrs Knoll and Mr Harper led by Headmaster Bullion greeting another group of fancy dressed adults who stood in a tight circle by the school gate. He was trying to see who would be so important as to be greeted by the Headmaster himself just before Piers threw an empty soda can at him, drawing his attention back to the fact he was actually being chased by his favourite bullies. Out of the blurry corner of his eye Harry saw Mr Bullion bending downwards to greet someone among the men dressed in business suits but he had reached the end of the building and needed to turn yet another corner, running for the secondary corridor just in time to hear the ringing bell signalling the true beginning of morning break.

"Hey! Watch it!" followed by shrieks of "Oh, my foot!" and "Out of the way!" were heard as young Harry, hunted by Malcolm, Dennis, Gordon, Dudley and Piers ran straight through the mass of children leaving classes at the time. One unfortunate little boy stepped in front of Piers as he was dodging a group of screaming girls and both fell hard on the floor, legs and arms entangled. Malcolm and the others jumped over them but Harry noticed that Dudley only managed to circumvent them; jumping was not his cousin's favourite activity and besides his highest gained altitude ever was about half a foot, achieved just this year when trying to reach for an appetizing chocolate cake his mother Petunia had brought home from the bakery for his birthday party. He frowned as he remembered being blamed for the mess on the floor after Dudley pushed the cake over, he was made to pay for a new one from his already scarce gardening earnings and clean up the kitchen, _and_ remove chocolate cake footprints from all over the house, _and apologize_ to Dudley, thus adding insult to injury!

As if fortune had remembered Harry's pledge, at least once, it was Ms Vowel who stepped out of the last classroom door of the corridor. She halted all four children and reprimanded them for running in the halls, separated Dudley and his two friends and with a wink for Harry pulled the three of them towards the Headteacher's office. Left alone in the classroom, he sat on the floor and picked a book from the small class library. Reading was always a difficult activity for Harry, he only managed to read and concentrate for a couple of minutes before developing severe headaches; to make matters worse, he would have to face his relatives for "getting Dudley in trouble again" and the anxiety kept breaking his feeble attempts at concentration.

The bell rang again and the black-haired boy popped his head out the door, watching out for his cousin in case he had already been dismissed by the Headteacher, and then swiftly headed for his classroom to sit through another Mathematics lesson. He grinned when noticing three empty chairs and the welcome absence of its usual occupants. Ms Marguerite Sewen, an strict German born middle-aged woman, also looked happy because her class was progressing smoothly without Dudley's constant disruptions, but it wasn't to last.

Harry had his one-fifth-length sharpened pencil on hand, hovering over some half-finished multiplications, when a cacophony of slamming doors and shutters made him jump out of his seat, his stomach twisted and his head shot upwards as darkness engulfed the classroom, reminding him of the worst nightmares he would wake up from in the middle of the night. Screaming, running children clogged the doorway as the large windows facing the fishery building next door shook and cracked under the force of the closing aluminium shutters. Only Harry remained calm, wondering if once again he had done something impossible and if he did, why would it happen now when there was nothing threatening or upsetting him?

"Quiet! Everyvone quiet down und please open the tuer!" Ms Sewen yelled over the frightened shouts of his pupils.

"It won't open!" answered young Bill, who was already crying for his grampa.

The startled teacher managed to overstep the twenty or so huddled children and tried the door herself, finding it locked and resisting every attempt at forcing it open. Harry was still staring at the now glass-less, obscured windows when something else flooded his mind, the exhilarating possibility that since this wasn't his doing, there had to be another person with freak abilities like himself in the school. In an instant the memory of those kind, accepting yet troubling brown eyes of a little girl he could hardly tell whether was real or a figment of his imagination had suddenly blossomed inside him. If she was real, truly real, than so was magic and that would explain every strange event that continued to happen around him!

Slowly but surely, Harry broke out of the trance and faced the southwest corner where the classroom door stood, staring at it without acknowledging the curious looks and terrified glances from his classmates. He walked towards the door while Ms Sewen tried to keep the other children away from the shattered windows and pushed the handle with all his might, then resorting to put one foot on the wall and pushing himself while pulling the handle with both hands in an effort to wrench the stubborn door open. The classroom was bathed in light again as Ms Sewen managed to pull the shutters open and clear some of the broken glass, and Harry felt rather than heard the lock being released. All the now unnecessary strength made him lose his grip on the handle when the door burst open, throwing himself over backwards and landing painfully flat on his back in the middle of the room.

"Whaaa...!" he screamed while flying through the air and then the unmistakeable sound of deflating lungs and perhaps broken bones filled the now silent room. Teacher and children encircled the fallen boy, some with their mouths open, others looking at him with tilted heads probably wondering if he was still alive after such folly.

At that very moment a group of people led by Mr Bullion walked by the classroom, Harry only managed to turn his neck slightly towards it looking at the half-height wall below the shattered windows as they passed by and heard the Headmaster talking.

"Yes, ahem, well... As you can see we-we... Well we are rebuilding a few of the classrooms, you see? Oh, watch out for the broken glass!"

"And having classes inside all the while?" a female voice asked, with a reproachful tone as Ms Sewen and the children waved innocently at them.

"Oh, no, these children were... Ahem... Learning about construction sites, that is!" and the school Headmaster added, "Maybe the foundation could, perhaps, help us in this matter?"

The voices faded away and Harry lost the will to continue his search, and judging by the now swollen lump on the back of his head he should have lost consciousness as well. Groaning and managing to lift himself up without anyone else's help, he walked to the cubicle that was the school's infirmary, a place he knew all too well for his liking.

"_Again?_ What part o' yerself did ya bruise this time, Barry?" the Physical Education teacher Mr Barrow would double as nurse when not in class, he had always had difficulty remembering anyone's name or family name correctly, although he had seen both him and Dudley almost every single month, the larger boy always complaining about something the thinner, smaller child had supposedly done to him.

"It's my head, a nasty bump..." Harry stated while pointing at his back.

"Cor! That's a nasty bump!"

"Just what I said."

"Yer not very smart, huh? _Always_ tripping over sumethin' or other..." Mr Barrow replied while slapping him on the back of the head, forgetting that it was precisely that area of his head that was swollen and bruised, in addition to his back and his pride, whatever little he had.

Saddened by a deep feeling of loss after failing to confirm the presence of the girl who lived in his dreams, she that could perhaps be real and maybe once stood opposite him in the gigantic hall of the British Library, Harry pressed the pack of ice cubes against his head and walked back to the now very ventilated and cold classroom, taking his usual place and ignoring Dudley's also usual finger pointing and snickering.

The swelling subsided after a couple of weeks, yet the headaches continued until well after the Christmas holidays, when Harry was left again under the care of old Mrs Figg for a full day so that Dudley could drag his parents to visit someone called Santa he would always visit this time of the year, all the while enumerating all thirty or more toys he wished to have. Yes, the smell of cabbage continued to permeate her home, yet the endless hours looking at pictures of her overgrown cats were long since substituted by grateful hours of piano playing and music listening. Mrs Figg thoroughly enjoyed cabaret and vaudeville music of the nineteen twenties, she had many old, dusty music albums and an antique record player, from where Harry learned quite a few merry melodies and some lyrics that made his face turn red, but had fun playing them back for her on the old, out of tune upright piano.

"Oh my, you have improved by leaps and bounds!"

The boy looked away from the old lady but kept playing, despite everything Harry still felt uncomfortable when complimented."It's because I'm going to be representing my school at a musical contest, Mrs Figg."

"Is that so, Harry? Where, if I may ask?" she replied while scratching an giant obese grey cat with white paws that sat on her lap. This particular cat had taken the habit of meandering around aunt Petunia's backyard, whenever she saw it she would shout and throw water out the kitchen window, claiming "that filthy animal" was going to ruin her precious flowerbeds, as if she had planted and taken care of them herself!

"I'm not quite sure, Mrs Figg. I'd thought it was going to be at our own Music classroom..."

"Never mind, dear, perhaps you could inquire your professor if you're leaving the safety of your school again for this competition you mentioned," she then added, with a nervous expression, "it's a dangerous world outside, you should know..."

He found it strange when she mentioned leaving the safety of the school again, the only occasions he had ever been outside Privet Drive area and Little Whinging Primary School were one visit to the local hospital after Dudley had pushed him downstairs when he was four, and one school trip a year. His cousin however was a constant visitor to such hospital, he complained of having everything from imaginary broken bones to very disgustingly real and smelly flu symptoms, and come to think of it, Harry wondered how was it he had never ever fallen ill from disease like other children, and only suffered bruises when it should have resulted in severe fractures, caused either by physical interaction with others or by foolishly hurting himself as he had a few weeks before.

Such questions remained unanswered as the evening arrived and Harry walked back to uncle Vernon's house, waiting in the garden until his relatives arrived to allow him inside. Christmas came and went away as always, salivating over delicious food aromas that night and watching Dudley disdainfully open his quite extensive amount of presents in the morning.

As a new year arrived for little Harry, his anxiousness increased and his self-doubt redoubled. Was he good enough to perform music in front of an audience? Or would he finally disappoint Mr Harper, who had taught him so much more than hitting black and white keys on an instrument? Courage to do what feels right, understanding that there are more possibilities among two extreme options, and ultimately a sense of worth he had never experienced before, that people actually praised and appreciated how he, Harry James the good-for-nothing-freak, could convey the magic within music by letting his emotions run free over a piano keyboard! All of that had been the result of a simple chance encounter, real or imaginary didn't matter any more, because the nameless girl who wordlessly said "I'm just like you and you'll never be alone" with her chocolate eyes had driven him towards this path; where it not for her, he might still be existing in an even more miserable condition, hopeless and broken-spirited all the time instead of only occasionally.

As spring and the fated date of Harry's performance drew near, he put all his effort and spent all his free time rehearsing both Ketlbey and Elgar music sheets. His temper was short and he found himself yelling back at his teacher one day, after already having an altercation with aunt Petunia over using too much cooking oil for breakfast that very same morning.

"I'm not playing it right..."

"Harry, maybe you'd better rest for a d--"

"No!" he screamed and clenched his aching hands, "I'll rehearse 'til I get this right!"

The other children stopped their folly as soon as Harry shouted, but Mr Harper quickly waved at them to continue. He was about to pull Harry away from the instrument when the door opened to reveal Headmaster Bullion, who walked up to the Music teacher and whispered something in his ear.

"What? Now?" Mr Harper replied loudly.

"Yes, now! I don't care what you do, just get those people away from here!" was Mr Bullion's forceful answer, then he lowered his voice again, but Harry managed to hear his threat, "Or would you like me to tell your precious star pupil over there just _why exactly_ you have been wasting your talent as a primary school teacher all these years?"

Harry watched his teacher stand and tower over the Headmaster, a bald man with deep brown eyes who barely reached Mr Harper's shoulder height. Both adults looked intently at each other until the taller man huffed and left the room, giving the children free reign for the remaining twenty minutes of class. Needless to say the quiet room soon became a raucous party, but Harry simply shrugged and continued to study the sheet music in front of him.

Three weeks before the musical contest took place Mr Harper announced Harry as the one to play Sir Elgar's sonata, while Annie would play the piano joined by Clara on the violin, presenting an arrangement of Albert Ketlbey's popular piece titled In a Persian Market as they had been training for the entire term. Time soared by until one last string of seven days passed in a flash and finally the day of the event arrived, on a Friday much to uncle Vernon's annoyance because he would have to fetch his "worthless nephew", from a music contest of all places, instead of watching his customary shows on the telly until midnight. Music playing was for lazy people who didn't have anything worthy to do in real life, Vernon constantly told Harry, and this pitiful so-called talent only made the child even more of a useless freak.

Harry had never, ever seen so much food in one place until that day at noon, after the first performances were held on the stage. Warm dishes, vegetables, pastries and fruits galore covered long tables dressed in pristine, embroidered white tablecloths from end to end, while on the other side of the large room a mountain of glasses, some containing amber bubbly liquids and others filled to the top with multi-coloured beverages, were promptly taken by children and adults, and even more quickly replaced for new ones. People dressed in white suits traipsed among them carrying more glasses filled with beverages, Harry refused an offer and walked up to one of the tables.

He approached the pastries with a salivating mouth, but Harry could only watch the tempting food because there was no adult to ask for permission to have one, and Mr Harper had left to speak with Headmaster Bullion. As he stood eye-levelled with the plentiful table, Clara and Annie approached and reached for a couple of desserts for themselves.

"Aren't you taking one, Harry?" Annie asked when she saw her classmate's surprised face.

"Shouldn't we ask Mr Harper first? Or someone else?"

Clara laughed at him and took another piece of chocolate cake; being as tall as she was, Clara also grabbed a cocktail glass filled with a creamy substance and chopped fruit. "English Trifle this is," she said, explaining it had sherry inside and her mum usually prepared those cold desserts at her home.

"The food is for us, Harry, you don't have to ask for permission to eat it!"

"Oh... Really? I mean, I've never..."

"Just take one and try it!" Mr Harper said, pushing Harry forward.

Annie had already left to talk with Clara when Harry started on his third serving of sweets, walking the room next to his teacher, who had already introduced him to some people, when he noticed the tall man freeze.

"Harold, old friend!" greeted a bearded man dressed in an impeccable black suit and a very mild French accent, "So glad to see you again, and still alive indeed... I've been invited to act as a juryman, can you believe it? _Me_, the first violin of the London Symphony in this baby musicians' thing, contest, whatever this is! Say, have you managed to stay away from, you know, _temptation_?" the man whispered that last word, but Harry still heard him.

"Yes, yes, of c-course I have, Phillipe!" came a nervous reply from Mr Harper. "Let me introduce you to young Harry James, the most talented pianist at my school."

"How _funny_, it's Harold and Harold!" the French man commented off-handedly, "Phillipe Dufournel. Your teacher and I studied in the Royal Academy together, I'm pleased to meet you young Harold, or perhaps should I call you Harry and then address Harold here as old Harry?"

Harry was confused, if he was young Harold and Mr Harper was Harold, how could he be old Harry when Harry, himself Harry, had never heard Mr Harper being called Harry? Too many Harryses made his head hurt. "Pleased to meet you too, sir, and just Harry will be fine," he said, after a few seconds, deciding to leave the matter to rest, besides, he didn't know if his name was actually Harold or plain Harry.

Mr Harper was reaching for a stem glass full of the bubbly beverage Harry had seen earlier, but Mr Dufournel, the French man, hastily slapped his hand and shooed the server holding the tray full of glasses, muttering something akin to "Lah vash! Harold, get a hold of yourself!"

Leaving the older men to talk with each other, young Harry picked a cold strawberry juice from the buffet table and walked to the front of the hall to see several framed certificates proudly displaying donations and the schools that received them. The Sir Isaac Newton Primary School, in Oxpadshire had been the recipient of a donation by merit of Mrs O'Riordan, English teacher, for presenting the Creative Reading Advanced Programme. "Didn't she realize that spells _crap_?" Harry wondered how someone could come up with such a horrible acronym. The afore mentioned school was awarded a completely new library and, according to the written document, has been visited by very important British authors ever since. On the upper right side of the wall he found one with the name Little Whinging Primary School, Little Whinging hanging in a neat row dedicated to the year 1987, detailing all sixty four brass, string, percussion and windpipe instruments donated, besides a concert quality grand piano. "What? A grand piano? I've never seen it!" was Harry's immediate thought. The certificate went on describing generous additional funds for playground and building renovation, but he had always played on the same rusty swings and cracked cement pipes; the slide had long since been bent beyond repair.

Harry had actually spent more time than any other student in the Music room, yet the largest amount of instruments he remembered counting were twenty at the most, including the now very familiar upright piano. His teacher had never mentioned the possibility of rehearsing on a grand piano either, nor had he ever discussed forming any large children's orchestra as was described on the elegant certificate he was now reading twice, just to make sure he had understood correctly.

Wishing to gather his thoughts, Harry walked outside and leaned on the bark of an ageing birch tree, watching the bustling of children, parents and teachers from other schools that had been granted donation because of their outstanding Music Syllabus or innovative ideas coming in and out of the auditorium building, some looking lost, others excited for something or other. A couple of elderly ladies were congratulating a very embarrassed boy holding a clarinet by pinching both his cheeks when an elegantly dressed young woman stormed out of the building and almost collided with them. She offered her excuses and turned a corner without noticing Harry, who crouched behind the hedgerows and crawled around them to see her walking to the nearest marble bench while her trembling hand looked for something inside her small handbag.

The woman Harry now recognized as Ms Flores found a pack of cigarettes and promptly lit one, taking a deep breath and releasing the smoke, like uncle Vernon did sometimes in the middle of the night, when he violated aunt Petunia's no-smoking rule. She found herself being joined by Headmaster Bullion who hesitated on the spot, looking around before sitting next to the school's secretary on the weathered stone seat and whispering something to her.

"I know your wife has to be here, caramba! That's not upsetting me, what's upsetting me is you and Harold _using_ students for winning this, this stupid contest!"

"But kitten you--"

"Don't you dare _kitten_ me Albert, honey! Harold sold those instruments for you and now because of _your_ greed you're gonna use children as wonderful as little Harry to win this prize and cover your wrongdoings? You haven't seen the poor child beating himself over that miserable piano for months just to please old Harper!"

"My dearest Sandra, I beg you to listen, it was Harold who--"

Ms Flores had a well built body, her strength came to full recognition as her right arm swung back and, with the speed of a cricket bowler, connected one heavy hand on Mr Bullions stupefied face. "And I thought you'd be doing this for the school, I'm such a fool!" she yelled as another slapping added more colour to the Headmaster's reddened face. She then walked away, saying she was going to contact everyone involved and reveal their actions, in between several Spanish choice words neither Harry nor Mr Bullion comprehended.

Harry needed hear nothing further to finally understand what had happened to the missing instruments. Mr Harper had sold them and now he needed him to win first place and use the money the school would receive as a prize to hide it! He had probably taken the money for playground equipment too! Simply put, Mr Harper lied to him. Whatever lessons Harry had learned, musical and otherwise, were now complete lies, and it hurt so much that the boy could hardly breathe. He sat behind the green hedges and contemplated what to do now that his talent was worthless, now that he was a worthless fool. Should he confront his teacher? If only he could ask his uncles, they at least had never lied to him, they never hid the fact his parents were useless people that died in a vehicle accident, nor had they ever lied about loathing the very sight of him and the heavy burden that he was.

The evening webbed away until Harry heard a group of girls talking by the entryway, they were discussing how gorgeous some boy who played the cello was, until one of them changed the subject and commented off-handedly how clich it was to play Elgar's Land of Hope and Glory.

"_Elgar!_" screamed Harry, who made the girls scream in fright themselves as he jumped through the hedges and bolted for the inside of the auditorium. He had to find Annie and tell her what he had overheard, perhaps she could tell him what to do about it.

A large wall clock indicated four minutes past three in the evening, Harry's performance was scheduled for a quarter past three which meant Mr Harper had to be looking for him, or else he had asked Annie to perform instead. Either way he had a better chance at finding her in the reserved sitting area or backstage.

Panting heavily after the running sprint, Harry managed to enter the hall as an announcer dressed in a fancy suit finished his remarks regarding the welcome presence of someone important to the completion of this musical contest. Whoever it was had already left the podium and people were finishing their applauding, so Harry busied himself with trying to find Annie before she was forced to take his place and tell her about Mr Harper's wrongdoings. He scanned the entire auditorium but couldn't find her, he then turned around and crawled under the steel trusses supporting the enlarged stage, reaching the other side to find their Music teacher pleading with his classmate.

"Annie, please, Harry's missing and you've learned the piece, you _must_ play!"

"But it was supposed to be Harry, I can't go up there, I can't!" she said while hiding behind a large velvet curtain that hung from the backstage ceiling.

"Of course you can, you've got a talent, and you're a wonderful pianist! Besides this is for the good of the school, and wouldn't you like to have your name on the trophy cabinet?"

"For the good of the school?" Harry interrupted, "She's got a talent? What next, she's supposed to have the courage to do what feels right?" he yelled in a mocking tone while untangling his left foot from the steel bars.

"Harry, where have you--"

"Don't! I'm not believing a word you say to me sir! Not any more..." replied the black-hired boy, who had taken Annie's side while she stared at him. "Annie he's a thief, the school was given sixty four different instruments, _and_ money for classrooms _and_ money for the playground! But he and Mr Bullion sold the instruments and stole all that money! He wants us to win so they get the prize money and use it to cover what they took!"

The older man let his head down, pulled a wooden box and sat on it before looking up at his students. "You're wrong Harry, please let me finish..." he added when he noticed the boy's look, "I've never stolen money from the donations, and I've got to say it pained me deeply to sell those wonderful instruments."

"Harry, how d'you know of this?" Annie asked him over her teacher's laments.

"I heard Ms Flores yelling at the Headmaster, and she said she's going to tell the charge funding about it and he accused Mr Harper of taking all the money."

"That bloody bastard!" the old musician muttered.

"Charge funding? Oh, you mean charity foundation?" the girl asked, to what Harry simply bounced a little on the balls of his feet and nodded, slightly embarrassed at his misunderstanding of the words. It was Ms Flores after all, whose heavy Spanish accent was also at fault, Harry rationalized.

Sighing, Mr Harper looked at his pupils once more. "Annie, and Harry, have you ever wondered why I'm teaching music to little children in a small primary school of Little Whinging?"

No reply came, therefore the older man buried his face in his hands and continued. "Music took command of me, when I was young, the written notes on the musical sheets demanded me to obey and to serve them... Playing became torture when it had once given me pure bliss, and then those very same sheets I gave you last summer Harry, those wretched notations incarcerated my mind and broke my soul. Emotions had no place in there, only technique and mechanics, and I became as dull as an automatic instrument, an empty and meaningless repetitive tool... It was then that I learned emotions _always_ find a way out, and they drowned me in liquor and gambling. I lost so many chances at playing for the Symphony Orchestra, that I'd need a calculator to add them all up!" he explained with a sad laugh, "Mr Bullion made me sell the donations and he took a large portion of the money that was for playground equipment and building renovation for himself. He said I'd be fired and never find another job because of my condition if I didn't do it..."

"But sir, you lied to me! To us!" Harry replied with a choking voice, his windpipe was almost closed and his eyes stung with tears, "I _believed_ you when you said I've got a talent, I _believed_ you when you explained it took courage to be a better person, to do what's right..." the boy looked at Annie and continued, "You never did any of that, sir, you've never had any courage, and you pushed Annie and me to win this contest thing only because you're afraid of Headmaster Bullion!"

"Harry it's not that simple!"

"Yeah it is! I'm not sure you won't get me expelled, but I'm _not playing tonight_!" he countered, angrily kicking a loose steel bar on the ground and storming away through a side entrance, looking for his uncle Vernon who, surely enough, was found wrestling over a parking space with a tiny old lady twenty yards down the street, the lady waved a closed umbrella at the rotund man's towering walrus-like face while his uncle sputtered his demands. As Harry walked the street in that direction, a bald man suddenly stopped in front of him and shook his hand in greeting, letting go after a second and walking away.

Once inside his uncle's vehicle, anger began to turn into guilt, but Harry's flared temper still occupied the larger part of his mind to pay much attention to it, nor to the strange fact that a purple dressed unknown man would shake his hand. He jumped on his seat after uncle Vernon forcefully shook him, repeating his question for the third time.

"I said, did you play your _stupid_ piano, boy?" the rotund man yelled, making his moustache tremble.

"No uncle Vernon..."

"Ha! I knew you weren't good enough, they probably came to their senses after all, including that Harper teacher of yours, he should've asked my Dudley to play, he's a much better choice if you ask me."

"As if Dudleykins could play anything beyond the doorbell..."

"What was that boy? Don't you mumble at me, you hear?"

"Yes uncle Vernon..."

"And you'd better have eaten a lot in there today, because I'm not feeding you for free after all this trouble of fetching you out here, boy!"

"Of course uncle Vernon..."

Dreading the morning break on Monday, Harry failed to sleep all night and simply walked out of his cupboard when aunt Petunia slid the hasp and turned the lock. Large bags adorned his green eyes and worry clenched his jaw as he wondered. What if he did get expelled? Would his uncles finally send him away to an orphanage? Living with his mother's sister, or so she claimed to be, had at the very least some advantages over life in an orphanage, for as far as Harry knew, they were no better than living in a cupboard night _and_ day, the schooling was horrible and children actually fought each other for the simple right to breathe. Dudley only punched him occasionally and all the running was quite healthy when compared to the prospect of a tiny, thin boy battling other boys, and girls he added, who were probably used to all that fighting. Oh, how he loathed the day his parents learned to drive a car.

"Harry James Potter?" Ms Vowel called, and he raised his hand as usual. The list of names continued to be called and he let his arm fall limply to the side, relieved that his complete name was actually still in the list.

That very morning Annie had walked up to him, visibly looking for any sign of Dudley or his friends, and with a large smile explained how she had agreed to play Sir Elgar's piano solo and won third place in the contest. He stuttered a small congratulation and quickly made his way into the classroom, wondering when and how was he going to be summoned for the Headmaster's office. The summon never came, and despite the fact Harry had stayed indoors during morning and lunch breaks, no one came looking for him.

In the afternoon, as he was being hunted by Dudley again, a large group of parents stood by the gates and loudly debated among each other. Harry ran several times past them and caught a few sentences here and there, most of them relating how the Headmaster had been suspended from his functions and that the school was under fraud investigation. Mr Bullion was gone, he had not seen Mr Harper all day and his name was still on the list, Harry smiled and gave a small "whoop" before turning a corner and tumbling a couple of old brooms on his cousin's path, grinning as he heard splattering sounds and very dirty cursing behind him.

A couple of days before June the twenty third, Dudley's eleventh birthday, Harry whistled while working the garden under longer summer days that alternatively scorched or drenched the ground as well as his bare shoulders. Despite everything that had happened in his almost finished school term, music had become part of him, it was the expression of his unwavering hope and a release mechanism for his feelings of joy, frustration or simple boredom. There was a suitable written piece of music for everything, he could dream, laugh, scream and weep, and if there was nothing that could convey his mood Harry simply ran his fingers over an imaginary keyboard and let the notes flow, composing his own music out of thin air.

"Stop that ruddy whistling boy!" Uncle Vernon seemed agitated and was yelling from his car window. His moustache bristled and his face contorted every time Harry made his presence known, it seemed that for the Dursley family his best attributes short of non-existence would have been to be a mute and invisible child, something he already was for all purposes, since he kept silent and hidden out of their way most of the time after his house chores.

He was looking forward to spending time at Mrs Figg's on the day of Dudley's birthday, but she had tripped over one of her felines and broken her leg, which left aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon with the arduous task of finding someone who wished to take care of Harry for the day. Alas, no such luck, therefore he was dragged alongside Dudley and his friend Piers for a day of fun at the zoo.

"Enough with that bloody whistling I said!"Uncle Vernon kept complaining but he knew there was nothing short of taping the boy's mouth, which would be quite frown upon if done in public, to stop Harry from doing it.

"But the chimp seems to like it! Look, he's almost dancing," Harry replied, and for the first time in his life, Dudley seemed to agree to something his useless cousin said, because the monkeys had been quite boring until then.

Most of the animals were quite interesting, much more than his cousin's constant demands anyway, and young Harry soon found himself in front of a glass enclosure holding a reptile described on the sign as a "boa constrictor". He adjusted his eyeglasses and peered closer, almost touching the glass pane with his nose, when the animal opened its beady eyes and looked at him. Their gazes locked and Harry felt sad for the locked existence this snake had to endure. It winked at him and clearly conveyed how bothersome it was to be there.

"If you had hands and feet, you'd be dancing along a tune like that chimp back there," Harry said, "I could whistle a charmer's melody if you wish."

"Doesss my ssskin look like an Indian cobra to you?" came a muffled reply from behind the separating glass.

"Wow!" he yelled and took a step back, drawing the undesired attention of his relatives. "You-you c-can speak?"

"Yesss, but not Abahnyem... I wish I wasss sssomewhere else..." it said in a pitiful tone.

"Sorry, can't help you there," the boy answered with truthfulness.

The boa shifted itself to better face Harry and said "I believe you, sssmall human."

At that moment Piers screamed for his friend's relatives to come quickly. It didn't take long for Dudley to arrive and shove him away, cutting his until then pleasant conversation with a snake. "Look! The snake's moving! What were you hissing at it, freak?"

Looking up from the floor, Harry stared angrily at his cousin, before realizing that the boa had somehow escaped the enclosure and was now advancing upon the horror stricken children.

"I can defend you from thessse babakuara!" it said, glaring at both boys, an amazing feat for a snake, but Harry simply shook his head negatively and the boa slithered away, saying "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo."

Harry finished the day locked inside his cupboard, wondering why the spiders living with him had never spoken a single word. If he could carry a conversation with a snake, why not with a spider? Then again, Harry thought, perhaps it was the odd snake that could talk to humans and not the other way around... He fell into uneasy sleep with a lot of questions and little comfort.

The locked-in-the-cupboard punishment went on for days, he was let out for urgent needs only, and that was if he screamed loud enough. The benefit was the lack of chores, which gave him enough idle time to turn his notebooks into notation sheets, where Harry would write his tiny compositions.

Temperatures soared and Harry was beginning to worry, if he spent all his time inside his sleeping quarters, the flower beds would die without proper care. He entertained the idea that perhaps his uncles had hired a real gardener for the summer, but then laughed at it so hard that aunt Petunia had come to release him, telling uncle Vernon she did _not_ need the trouble of caring for an insane nephew.

Chores and routine resumed, with the added pressure of escaping Dudley's gang of bullies. It wasn't enough to have to run from them at school, now all five lords of the playground had become permanent residents of number four Privet Drive as well. Harry had to use all his agility and energy, finishing the days so exhausted that he was barely able to think of anything after laying his weary bones over his bed and resting his head on one arm, since he had no pillow. The nightmares, however, had no consideration towards how tired he was.

The mass-produced, antique style wall clock the Dursley's proudly displayed on the wall opposite the main door of their house chimed midnight while Harry tossed and turned on his barely cushioned foam mattress. Still enveloped in the hazy fog of sleepiness, he failed to notice the sound of coarse paper running through the door's letter plate and the metallic clinking it made after a letter was pushed through, barely a second after the last of twelve gongs echoed away.

As morning broke and aunt Petunia allowed him out of his tiny quarters, he noticed something square, flat and yellow by the front door. Harry walked to it and picked the odd envelope, running a finger over the unusual material and the blood-red seal on it. As he turned it over, he could do no more than stare at the handwritten name and address he read.

"A letter, for me?"

* * *

Notes:

1.- Sorry for the never-ending chapter, it remained big no matter how much I chopped it. The idea was to show Harry's earliest childhood and four years of primary schooling.

2.- Harry apparated to the school kitchens, I've read that it's more broadly accepted that he levitated himself, but that's not half as cool as apparating at the tender age of eight.

3.- The Death Eater attack that changed Hermione's life has changed Harry's too, he wouldn't have been taken to the British Library and met her, nor would his primary school have had a piano if it wasn't for the H.J. Granger Foundation.

4.- This time Harry enjoys staying with Mrs Figg, despite the cats and the cabbage smell; I've always been fond of her, reminds me of my own granny.

5.- The vanishing glass at the zoo is a landmark of the Potterverse, the idea was to have the same end result but under different circumstances, so that the boa constrictor escapes but has a longer conversation with Harry first.

6.- Foreign languages have been written as Harry would interpret them:  
Ms Flores: "ares deemaceadow gerdow" / Spanish; Eres demasiado gordo / You are too fat.  
Ms Sewen: "Everyvone quiet down und please open the tuer!" / German accent; und; Tr / and; door.  
Mr Dufournel: "Lah vash!" / French; La vache! / French expression of surprise, literally "The cow!"  
Boa constrictor: "abahnyem" "babakuara" / Indigenous Tupi-Guarani (Brazil); abanhem; babaquara / Language of men; fools. The boa constrictor in canon H.P. thanks Harry and refers to him as "amigo", but it's bred in the zoo; that word means "friend" in Portuguese (as spoken in Brazil) and in Spanish, therefore snakes can speak the native tongue of their original development place in the world in parseltongue, which is why the snake uses the term "abanhem" as a reference to "the tongue of men" and "babaquara" towards Dudley and Piers ("fools"). Do I make any sense at all? 


	3. Chapter 3: The Thief and Saviour

**Chapter 3: The Thief and Saviour**

At the young age of ten, about to turn eleven less than a month after that summer and with an impressive will to live and improve herself, Hermione Jane Granger had already filled many of her attic beams with rows of books ranging from battered novels to mismatched encyclopaedia tomes, complemented by scattered things, puzzles and trinkets she would find amazing or challenging enough to keep. She could have easily filled all that space with brand new books simply by asking her aunt Claire to bring her the newest releases from the fancy bookshop she managed, as she did for the home library, but Hermione stubbornly preferred to earn her own.

She could have relied on her uncle Charles as well, who was her late father's brother, to provide her with every book or material possession she desired on a whim, for her relatives didn't spare anything except real acceptance of her; it seemed the many odd and unusual things that happened around her had placed an insurmountable barrier between them since her very earliest years of life. Uncle Charles Granger was a very successful solicitor and also managed a charity foundation he had started in Hermione's name the year after her mother and father died. She tended to frown when thinking about it, not that she didn't appreciate the wonderful benefits and opportunities the foundation provided to children in those primary schools selected for their commitment, she just wished they had not used her name and personal tragedy for it.

Her school grades reflected an enthusiastic desire for knowledge and clear understanding of the world around her, being the top student in her class just like her older cousin Bernadette was in her own year. But while her cousin was also very openly friendly and talkative, Hermione had a tendency to scare others away with her unorthodox behaviour, earning isolation from most, if not all of the other children.

Two large round white framed windows complemented the tiled roofs and adorned cornices of the Victorian style manor where the Grangers lived, one facing north that illuminated an open area used as a storage room above the master bedroom on the second floor, and one facing east, where a brown-haired girl lived since well before her sixth birthday. Bernadette had demanded to have the bedroom for herself alone after an incident involving songbirds, and Hermione already loved that enormous, open space she had discovered one day while playing hide and seek. Her uncles did little to dissuade her from the decision to use the attic as her bedroom, in fact they mildly encouraged her to do so.

A couple of bedsheets discarded by her older cousin hung from the ceiling and served as dividers, separating the makeshift common room from her vast sleeping space. An antique couples' bed, once owned by her aunt and uncle and given to her when she took the decision to move upstairs was placed right beside the round swivelling glass pane, opposite a creaking rocking chair that stood wedged between a book filled table with a small reading lamp on top and a pot-belly stove she had found discarded on the street and smuggled inside when she was nine years old, using an improvised yet highly efficient pulley system.

Hermione's constant daily and nightly escapades around the rooftops had annulled her fear of heights years ago and increased both her strength and endurance; since she barely had any human friends, many cats and birds had become her constant playmates as she jumped from house to house, exploring as far away as she could between chimneys, trees and alleys until satiating her curiosity for the world around her, or finding a nice spot to sit and read. Her favourite cat friends were Jim and John, two ragged old felines that taught her how to walk the thinnest of walls, avoid the sharpest of cornices and how to swiftly jump anywhere she wished to reach.

A jet black raven, that was as large as a wild duck, she had named Kettle would usually bring her a shiny gift or two during the week, a few mismatched silver earrings and once a gold necklace with a pendant bearing strange markings that she wore under her shirt at all times were some of the bird's most expensive gifts. The rest of the time Kettle the raven would bring soda can rings or pieces of scrap metal, yet Hermione would always thank him and give him a cookie or bread crumbs for his effort. She had by then also developed a moral code of conduct for acquiring her precious books, those papery companions that taught, entertained and challenged her when not at school.

Her first book was a battered pocket edition of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bront, after checking how much the second hand bookshop asked for it, she searched and researched for something of equal value to leave as an exchange, as a barter of sorts. She soon found out that a simple flower bouquet would cost the same, and left through her attic's circular window one evening to collect just enough flowers from the gardens around her house, making sure to carefully water and remove the weeds off the flower beds from where she plucked them. She kept the bouquet in a glass of water and carried it with her to school the next day, thus adding to the already broad repertoire of things to tease Hermione about in school.

After following the same routine of leaving school with her cousin Bernadette towards aunt Claire's workplace at Kyles, the upscale bookshop where a single printed edition costed as much as ten perfectly readable second-hand tomes in The Earmarked Parlour, she excused herself and left carrying the colourful flowers. Hermione walked back to the old, dimly lit and narrow shop in Old Compton Street they passed by everyday before turning left on Charing Cross, waited for he opportunity and stealthily swapped the book for the flower bouquet, which she left by the counter so that the lady who owned the shop could see it. Her adrenalin was rushing and she didn't stop running until safely entering her aunt's fancy bookshop, clutching the first book she had ever rightfully owned to her chest.

Evening of the next day after school Hermione nervously glanced towards the shop and saw her bouquet proudly displayed on the front window inside a very delicate and ornate vase, and so began a constant exchange as she spent less and less time with her aunt and cousin after school, instead hanging by The Earmarked Parlour. Sometimes she would surreptitiously slip some fruit she had saved from school lunch that day or some coins she might have found on the ground and had been collecting into Mrs Miranda Morewitt the bookshop owner's purse for a small book; or then she would take the trash outside and thematically sort a bookcase or a box full of titles while she pretended to be choosing something, exchanging the amount of labour for an equivalent book in monetary terms. Lately she had taken to repairing loose leaves and restoring ripped covers, and felt confident enough to apply her technique to some of the most mistreated books she could not afford, borrowing them for a few days and swiftly returning them once they were repaired.

It was during the spring of her ninth year that Mrs Morewitt gently held Hermione by the shoulders and guided her to sit behind the counter. She had tried to hide her rising panic, but she knew what the bookshop lady wished to talk about. Perhaps she had miscalculated the value of some of the books she took? Or worse, maybe she had never quite understood how odd things kept appearing in her purse or inside her store, and had never really noticed the missing books until that day? Hermione fell into her questioning and began to shake as badly as when she had her nightmares, remembering that unbearable crushing feeling on her body and the image of a falling wall that ended in a sea of black flashing before her closed eyes.

Mrs Morewitt took hold of both her small hands and softly asked her to lift her face. When the young girl recovered her breath, she asked her to have some tea and waited a few minutes before offering her to help in the store during the coming summer in exchange for the amount of literature she deemed worthy of her work, because she was the most honest book thief she had ever met in her life. "It would be nice to speak to your mother as well, so that she approves of you helping me."

Hermione's eyes immediately watered at the mention of her being a book thief. "Oh please madam, I'm so sorry... I-I didn't mean to steal, I can return what I've... What I've taken..."

"No my darling, you mistake my words! There will be no need to return anything at all, I was just letting you know that I am aware and grateful for all your exchanges over the past year!" she replied in a kind voice. She then added that the thing she most liked from her were the flower bouquets, once a week she would find a new set of beautiful flowers on her window-shop vase. "Now how about you tell me your name and then bring your mother or father to meet me?"

"I'm afraid I can't... You see, I live with my uncle and his wife and daughter, because my parents, well they died in an accident when I was two," she answered, and then introduced herself as Hermione Granger, politely extending her small hand to the bookshop owner. Miranda Morewitt was a tall and slim woman with pale blue eyes and shoulder length grey-streaked black hair who appeared to be in her late fifties and had a rather suspicious permanent twinkle in her eyes; she shook hands with young Hermione and asked her to return accompanied by one of her uncles as soon as she could, before taking a seat next to the girl and asking her a bit more about herself.

Not quite certain why, the wild-haired child felt at ease with Mrs Morewitt; they spent a couple of hours talking and by then she had revealed as far back as she could remember of her life, minus the obviously frightening strange events that she seemed to be able to cause. Hermione explained how she was known as the "miracle baby" and children in school used to tease her about it, besides making fun of her teeth and her hair. She told the shop owner of her oldest memory, at age four, when she managed to verbalize her first complete phrase, rather than simple gestures or yes and no answers. It wasn't a problem regarding her ability to properly string an idea with words, she simply couldn't express them with her mouth until the morning she clearly asked for "juice and a piece of toast with butter, auntie Claire, please?" carefully highlighting the word please at the end.

"My uncles were so happy, I kind of remember they hugged me and kissed me, u-until... Well they were real happy and so was I..." she trailed off, her smile fading to a slight pout.

"Why don't you tell me about your love for books, darling. How many have you read by now?" the older woman asked, swiftly changing the subject of their talk.

"Well, so far I've read about five or six books a month, but then some are hard and then I've got to use a dictionary, and sometimes I take them with me to school but then they get mixed-up with my library books, and I'm rambling aren't I?"

Mrs Morewitt laughed heartily and refilled both their tea cups, urging Hermione to continue her aptly described rambling.

"As to why I like them, well they remind me of someone. I don't even know his name, but he was, like me?" she noticed Mrs Morewitt's twinkle flare when she said this, "Sure my aunt had already given me lots to read, and uncle Charles says both my mum and dad favoured a book to a film, but it's him I don't want to forget... And a good book can puzzle, teach and keep me company all at the same time!"

Both finished their fourth cup and Hermione excused herself, promising to return with her aunt as soon as she could. "Hermione the book thief, or rather the book healer!" she heard Mrs Morewitt whisper and chuckle as she left the bookshop, bouncing with every step she took. The word "healer" sounded quite unusual for her, for it was an old terminology describing a medical practitioner that regular people didn't use very often.

The older woman was quite certain that nobody would take better care or fully appreciate the knowledge contained in these books' yellowing pages as this unusual child named Hermione, and only hoped that she could spend the summer as proposed. There was also something intriguing about little miss Granger she dared to hope would come to be true.

It was a warm Friday afternoon while Mrs Morewitt enjoyed her tea together with two other women in a room behind shelves displaying leather bound editions so old the titles had vanished off their spines that Hermione returned, being pushed inside the shop with a single index finger on the back, as if the person trailing her was afraid of touching the child. Aunt Claire stopped to look around the shop while the door closed and the bell rang for a second time, and managed to produce half a smile, lifting Hermione's hopes up, only to be shattered as Claire Granger stared nastily over what she deemed clearly inappropriate clothing for a shopkeeper.

"Is this some kind of dressing-up club? My niece said nothing of the sort other than she had been offered to spend her summer days in this place..."

"Please aunt Claire, allow me to introduce you to Mrs Miranda Morewitt." Hermione interjected, hoping to soften her aunt's temper. "This is a bookshop similar the one you manage, only it deals with discarded, second hand items instead of the just published, brand new editions in yours."

Both women then greeted each other and Miranda explained to aunt Claire how she had seen her niece stopping by to read on many occasions over the past year, conveniently omitting the fact she had been actually trading work, flowers and coins for more than a book a week, allowing Hermione to release a long held breath. She left the adults to speak among themselves and turned to watch the other two old ladies sipping tea by the other room at the end of the store. They wore the same style of clothing as Mrs Morewitt, only these also had matching pointed hats, then Hermione understood her aunt's comment regarding a "dress-up club" at once. They did wear odd clothes but she had never really paid attention to it before.

The short plump lady sitting on the left side of the small cast iron table donned a very earth stained soft brown robe and seemed to be animatedly describing a vegetable of sorts, while the older, taller and thinner, more stern looking woman sat in front wearing a black cloak over a similarly dark robe and quietly listened to the story, barely moving her thin, straight lips. They seemed startled by Hermione's gaze upon them, quickly removed their hats and moved further out of view while whispering to each other, occasionally glancing back at the bushy haired girl who kept peeking at the old, peeling doorway next to sagged book filled shelves.

Claire called for her niece to approach, and keeping a prudent distance as was her usual demeanour, told Hermione she could come to assist Mrs Morewitt and didn't have to consider this a job or an obligation. She had sternly demanded of the shop's owner that the young girl needed to have complete freedom to come and go as she pleased, and that she must be treated as kindly as possible despite her sometimes quite unusual behaviour. Then Claire added that she hoped her not to do anything strange around the store, and could hardly hide the fear in her eyes. Hearing this, Hermione wished to be swallowed whole by the ground and had to find a seat, while Mrs Morewitt simply nodded and grinned.

"Of course Mrs Granger, your niece is free to do as she wishes, if any given day she feels indisposed to come, all I ask is for you to let me know so I do not worry about something being wrong," she concluded while placing a hand over Hermione's head.

"My husband Charles is a very prominent solicitor, if anything should happen--"

"Nothing _strange_ will happen Mrs Granger, and Hermione will join me for lunch as well during the week, if she agrees to it?"

Hermione nodded silently and walked alongside her aunt to leave the narrow yet five times as deep shop, leaning back for a second to wave goodbye at the two older women she had seen on the back, leaving a very surprised Mrs Morewitt looking between the back room of her shop and the now empty entrance, several times.

Summer at The Earmarked Parlour was an enjoyable experience, young Hermione had become friendly, while still reserved on certain subjects, to the bookshop owner who insisted in being called Miranda. The two women she had seen the day aunt Claire had agreed to allow her to spend her summer helping in the store didn't come back again, but she did occasionally catch a glimpse of strangely dressed men and women waking around the room in the back when the old door was open. Both would sit and have lunch together, discussing one topic or another, or a novel one of them had been reading, and sometimes Miranda would brush more personal subjects, hoping to find some proof of her suspicions.

By late August the fall school term loomed in the horizon, Hermione let Miranda know she would still be visiting weekly or as regularly as she could after classes. The older lady asked her to please remember to stop by the shop on September nineteenth, she dismissed the girl's protest saying it was only fair to have presents, even if from an old lady with whom she had only spent a summer but hoped to be considered a friend. It was then that Hermione realized what had happened, she had truly made a human friend, it wasn't someone her age but she felt comfortable and could share some of her own fears and accomplishments with Miranda without feeling judged or feared by her like her uncles and schoolmates did.

The day of her tenth birthday was perhaps the longest day in the history of mankind, according to Hermione. School never seemed to end and while she tried very hard to concentrate, her mind would fly away into the hazy memories of books, pointed hats and a boy of deep green eyes. She had sat in bed that morning still feeling a tingling in her right hand, remembering the face in her dream. He seemed to be so lost, yet she saw caring, understanding and compassion before the dream plunged her into a large pile of books and looked up at an old man wearing a talking pointy hat that accused her of being a book thief, she closed her eyes inside her dream when the rumbling sounds and crushing sensations announced her familiar nightmare. She was about to be buried under the rubble of the collapsed building that killed her mum and dad when green-eyes whispered "Who are you?" in her right ear.

"Who am I then?" Hermione asked out loud while the Mathematics teacher tried to convince a freckled skinny boy that the number ten does indeed consist of a one and a zero, but not because they are multiplied together. He insisted that one times zero equalled to ten.

"What'd you say, bookworm?" Hissed the dissonant voice belonging to Laura Lemebel. Tall and tanned Laura had a predilection for picking on Hermione, be it by making fun of her hair, pointing her scar at others or simply by hiding her schoolbooks in the most inaccessible places around the school. This time she just moved her long arms over Hermione and snatched her textbook, telling her to answer or she would keep it for herself.

Hermione had never _not_ finished an assignment in class, and this would not be the exception. "Give it back!"

"No, tell me what you said before. And _maybe_ I'll give it back!" Laura replied while forcefully holding the textbook with both hands.

Screams interrupted the class when Laura began shouting something about a flying book and bushy haired freaky dorks, infuriating the already upset teacher Mr Cardinal who dragged her to the infirmary in a state of shock. Hermione remained seated and began to work on the day's assignment, fighting an urge to laugh at the face on her schoolmate when the pages began rustling and wriggling away from her grip one by one, until the cover itself flew away and the whole book reassembled itself in front of its rightful owner in little more than a second. These strange, impossible events kept happening at the most convenient of times, and she was most grateful for it although she could not even begin to explain them, and had built a wall of discomfort, perhaps outright fear, between her and her family ever since she was four and made it rain hundreds of small dandelion flowers all over their kitchen out of sheer happiness.

Classes ended at last, Hermione saw her cousin Bernadette giggling among some friends and walked by her, explaining that she was going to The Earmarked Parlour. She knew Bernadette despised the place, since her cousin always pointed out that "nothing's better than a freshly printed hard-cover edition," like the expensive titles in her mother's bookshop, so she wasn't surprised when Bernadette simply shrugged and shooed her before the other older girls could tease her about the "dorky cousin". Hermione knew it was a half-hearted brush-off, and that her older cousin would make it up to her by leaving a small present for her in her attic like she did every year, in fact Hermione was certain they could have been quite friendly, were it not for Bernadette's irrational fear of her after they shared a bedroom for a few years, and her excessively nosy and cheerful mannerisms. Hermione herself was a stark contrast to Bernadette's character, she had trouble making people like her with the know-it-all and overachieving attitude, besides the strange things that kept happening around her. "I'll let mum and dad know that you'll be back later, Hermione!" she heard her cousin yell while she carefully crossed the street, looking at both sides first.

Inside The Earmarked Parlour all lights were out, yet Hermione found the door unlocked. She bit her lower lip and pushed the glass panelled wooden door, carefully looking around but finding not a soul on the couches or by the front shelves. It was when she noticed a tumbled stack of twenty five Pence each books and a tumbled bookcase that she began to worry. Rounding the faded periwinkle couches and turning left behind the counter, Hermione discovered the rigid form of Mrs Morewitt facing the floor. She was stiff as a wooden board, with her arms straight and pressed to the sides of her body while her legs stood hard and flat enough to iron a shirt over them.

"First things first!" she thought and looked around, dropped her school rucksack and ran across the shop to grab a heavy brass candle holder for her own protection. Hermione scanned the room once more and bent over to turn Miranda Morewitt on her back, checking for pulse and breathing. Distressed at finding little signs of life, she tried to wake her but found herself unable to flex or bend Mrs Morewitt's body. Utterly puzzled, she resolved it would be better to call for help using the telephone booth located in the street corner, she peeked out the door and ran for it while still clutching the brass candle holder.

Hermione had barely stepped out of the bookshop when a tall middle-aged man with greying red hair appeared out of nowhere and held her up by the waist, asking who she was and where she was running to. Hermione instinctively defended herself, swinging and knocking the tarnished metallic sturdy ornament over the man's head, who relinquished his grip on the girl and fell on the side walk. She heard him faintly exclaim "Merlin's beard!" before collapsing face down on the flagstone pavement.

Startled by her swift reaction and the fact that she now had two unconscious adults in her presence, one who stood unnaturally paralysed and another who cried for a mythological character after being hit, Hermione called for help using the triple nine service and ran across the street to climb and hide on the roof, positioning herself so as to have an unimpeded view through Mrs Morewitt's large front windows. In the scarce four minutes it took for her to use the back-door and reach the top while avoiding workers and tenants, two men wearing oddly matched polka-dotted shirts and pinstriped trousers were pushing away some people who had tried to help the fallen man on the street.

She observed nervously when a third man, older and wearing a mismatched business suit with a brown bowler hat on his head lifted the tall red-head and dragged him inside The Earmarked Parlour, where another oddly dressed lady was already tending to her older female friend, helping Mr Morewitt to her feet who, despite being a little wobbly and dizzy seemed to be in one piece after all. The man wearing the bowler hat kept looking everywhere and popped his head out to scan the street one last time before slamming the door and closing the thick maroon curtains behind the other polka-dotted men who finally walked inside.

She was debating with herself whether to approach and confirm that Miranda Morewitt was safe or to stay where she was and wait for the strange group of people to leave. Her racing heart and genuine concern pushed her up over the ledge to make her way back, but keeping constant view of the shop while doing so; she gauged the distance to the adjacent building, took half a step back and leapt, landing softly over the slippery tin roof and sliding a few yards, breaking her descent with both feet against the rusty rain gutter that ran along the old brick cornice. Hermione crawled to take another glimpse at the still closed shop's curtains, backed away slightly and held to the roof using her arms while dangling her legs over to jump on the fire-escape iron ladder. She began to hear sirens approaching, the lady who took her call at the emergency services number had asked her what the emergency was, and Hermione quickly described finding a middle-aged woman on the floor, most likely suffering a cardiac arrest. She was glad the lady believed her and not dismissed the call as a prank. Looking over her shoulder again, she noticed the door was opening and pressed herself as much as possible against the wall, hiding half of her small body on the recesses of a swivelling window in order to avoid being seen.

A light creaking sound emanated from the unkempt window pane, it receded under Hermione's weight and flipped open, lifting her legs and thrusting her back head-first inside the building. Screeching loudly, she fell over and landed painfully on top of a series of barred cages, ruining the already mangled and dirty light-blue dress she had been wearing for her birthday. Looking around to assess her surroundings, she was forced to cover her ears from what sounded like the deafening sounds of a tropical jungle, but right there in England. Birds cackling and monkeys screaming greeted her eyes as they adjusted to the low light conditions; Hermione clearly identified rustled pink flamingos, jumping gibbons and disgruntled squirrel monkeys, a pair of reptiles inside a half filled bathtub kept rolling over each other, probably baby crocodiles, while the cage she had fallen upon contained several large toucans trying to nip her hands and knees, bobbing their heads up and down at her.

"What _is_ this place?" she asked no one in particular, before rubbing her sore bum and jumping from the steel cage.

The floor of the large warehouse was covered in sawdust, a row of dirty swivelling windows ran along the southern wall, while a barred door impeded transit leading to and from an unlit corridor on the other side; anything larger than an alley cat, that is. She could never hope to reach the window from where she fell through, and the distressed animals were likely to draw attention from someone, someone who would surely ask her what she was doing there in the first place. Hermione tore her gaze away from the cute spotted Kune-Kune piglets she was pampering when a cursing, gruff voice and lazy footsteps resounded from the corridor, now briefly illuminated by the initial flickering of a fluorescent overhead lamp turned on. She needed to think fast!

"Right... Bathing tub, no, there's crocodiles! Behind the cages?" she squeezed behind the filthy steel containers, "Be quiet, you hysterical monkeys, I can't set you free! Oh, the things I get myself into!" she complained under her breath, sliding out from behind the monkey cages and crawling under the lowest shelf of a cabinet holding at least a dozen glass containers filled with dull coloured, sad-looking geckos.

"Stop yer racket, ya filthy beasts!" yelled the silhouette of a man. He pulled a lantern and shone it around the room, passing over the imprisoned birds and then moving to the right side, where the beam of light reflected against the glass aquariums and, upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, he let his arm fall until the artificial light brushed Hermione's wide open eyes.

She gasped, she was absolutely certain the man had seen her pupils reflect the light and her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. Even how to breath escaped her mind as the fear of being caught overcame her every thought. Hermione managed to exhale after a minute when the man appeared to decide nothing was out of place and quietly turned to leave, but not before cursing the "ruddy animals" again.

"I've got to get out of here!" she was biting her lip so strongly it almost drew blood, not that it would be very noticeable in her current state, but it would be quite annoying to add yet another wound to the healing list.

The sirens outside were now blaring into the old building as well, she could picture the emergency vehicles and the disgruntled officers as they find a recovered Mrs Morewitt, but how could she now she was going to be all right? It was Hermione's turn to wish someone called in help for her!

"C'mon, we've gotta pull the fake wall 'fore 'em coppers get 'ere!" came the same man's voice from the distance, just before a piercing screech and a muffled thump indicated the corridor being sealed.

"Wonderful!" Hermione said in an exasperated tone, exiting her hiding place and throwing her hands on the air, "I'm locked in here, and I've got classes tomorrow! Oh, I'm gonna be expelled..." Yes, being expelled was her greatest concern at the moment.

The evening brought further darkness into the large open space where the "amazing jungle in a box" as she had decided to call the poor trapped animals, continued their pleas for food, attention or freedom, whichever she could provide, yet none were available to her either. The building itself looked old, perhaps it was a factory of some kind, she reasoned, and then she remembered most warehouses and workshops had shafts along the walls to drop refuse or by-products of whatever they produced inside! Hermione began to peek over crates and boxes along the wall, looking for a trapdoor or opening, until noticing a square metallic plate with two handles on it.

"Yes!" she pushed it with all her might and, taking one last glance at the sad-looking monkeys and distressed toucans, slid feet first down the tube. "I'm _never, ever_ wearing a dress again in my life!" she promised herself after slowing her descent with arms and feet, finally landing on the alley outside.

Hastily crossing the street, she crawled and peeked inside the bookshop, careful not to let anything beyond her forehead and eyebrows show. All the book piles and shelves were tidy as if never overturned, and Mrs Morewitt was beyond the doorway to the back room of the shop, she could see her figure walking about in a nervous pace and felt relieved that she was indeed in good health. The bell above the door rang twice as the door opened and closed, and Hermione found herself being hugged before she could speak a single word.

"My darling, where have you been? I was so worried when I saw your school belongings here but you were nowhere to be found!"

"I came in and you were face first on the floor, and--"

"Hermione, what in Mer-- What happened to you?" Mrs Morewitt interrupted, taking in her mangled and torn dress, her bruised knees and elbows, and her overall very dirty appearance.

The young girl retold her ordeal of the last few hours, from finding Mrs Morewitt unconscious to calling for help and hiding on the warehouse roof across the street, she discretely avoided telling her how she had knocked a man unconscious, then she explained how she fell inside were dozens of animals were to be found, most likely endangered species cooped inside an empty workshop on the third floor, and that she had to slide down a shaft to escape, hence her current state of untidiness.

"Untidiness? You're hurt all over, and you smell like a troll!" The older woman suddenly blanched as Hermione lifted one eyebrow.

"If there's such thing as a troll," she pouted and sniffed the hem of her ruined dress, "yes, I'd believe they smell like this, or worse..."

Nervous laughter ensued, before Hermione worried her lip and asked again if Mrs Morewitt was all right, she tried to ask about the unusual condition in which she had found her, but the older woman politely dismissed her questions and changed the subject by fetching a large package from behind the old dark walnut counter. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, held together by simple twine, with an attached handwritten card that read "to Hermione the book Healer, from your friend Miranda" on it.

"Thank you so much!" the girl said, before turning the package in her hands, carefully looking for clues as to what it might be without actually opening the present. It was an old habit she had, whenever she encountered something new or undisclosed, she would play this game of wit with herself, challenging her own deduction abilities.

Quite heavy, rectangular and thick, silent when gently shaken yet with noticeable inertia, indicating something within a box, Hermione continued her thorough analysis until catching Mrs Morewitt's amused expression. She blushed and quickly settled for the idea of this being a wooden box holding a set of fountain pens and perhaps other related items like an ink bottle. With dexterity and calm that began to exasperate the already impatient old lady, Hermione finished undoing the knots and unwrapping the brown paper.

She gasped upon the unwrapped present, and Mrs Morewitt barely managed to conceal a small laugh. "Not quite what you expected, I presume?"

"Mir-- Mrs Morewitt, t-this is too much!"

"Why don't you take a closer look, darling?"

Hermione delicately placed the rectangular item on her lap, neatly folded the brown paper and set it aside under the twine and her card before picking the gift with both hands. It was indeed a box as she had deduced, yet not wooden but made of the purest Lapis Lazuli stone she had ever laid eyes upon. The strikingly deep blue hues seemed to dance over the surface of the impossibly polished box, swirling over golden specks that resembled the galaxy cluster known as the Milky Way when it brightens the heavens on those rare, yet most gorgeous nights of pure, open celestial skies.

She then began to look for a latch or hinge of some kind; twice she looked before turning to Mrs Morewitt for help. The bookshop owner pretended to be busy straightening a row of paperback editions and simply shrugged, leaving Hermione alone with the puzzling container. "This can't be, there's something inside, but absolutely no opening!" she murmured to herself, "And this is way too much, the Lapis Lazuli _itself_ is worth a fortune! You could purchase a star with--" Hermione stopped in mid sentence, rearranged the stone container on her hands and gasped, "Holy cricket, it's the northern star! Polaris!" she jumped on the couch and twisted the blue monolith around, recognizing constellations and stars belonging to both southern and northern hemispheres.

"Miranda! It's a star chart! This is amazing!" Hermione excitedly said behind her shoulder, receiving an affirmative reply from behind the shelves.

"That puzzle was one of my late husband Bragna's _hundreds_ of marvellous trinkets, he was quite an avid collector, always on the hunt for a silvery, whirring novelty or challenging plaything..." she explained, "And you mentioned enjoying this sort of item, darling. I'm happy that you like it!"

Riding the bus back home, Hermione continued to play with the sparkling puzzle while people stared at her, with wrinkling noses because of the smell. She bypassed the front door and climbed to her attic using some wall bricks and mouldings, as well as window sills along the house exterior for support until reaching the knotted rope she had fashioned as a makeshift ladder to her oval window. Hermione grabbed her long sleeved pyjamas, prepared her rucksack for the next day of school and made quick use of a most welcome bath before going downstairs for dinner.

"Happy birthday, Hermione!" greeted uncle Charles with real happiness in his brown eyes, although he refrained from hugging or kissing her. None of her uncles ever touched her if not absolutely unavoidable, however her paternal grandparents, who travelled to the Isles for two weeks every spring did hug her often, same as other relatives from aunt Claire's side of the family. Claire would always twitch and gasp every time this happened.

"Thank you uncle Charles," she answered before taking a seat by the opposite end of the long dinner table.

"Now, remain calm and have a look at your presents!"

Hermione knew "to remain calm" meant "try not to bend the laws of physics again, so we don't have to cower under the table", nor spend the night trying to come up with a rational explanation and convince oneself of what happened like she did. Butterflies _do not_ fly out of curtain decorations, they simply entered the room when the window was left open, she reminded herself.

"Oh! Look mum, she's doing it again!" Bernadette pointed, making her parents jump on their seats, "She's like, _analysing_ the presents instead of opening them!"

"Do you mind?" she said from her far away spot.

"Oh, I do, dorky-mione! C'mon just tear it up..."

"Honey, that's enough," uncle Charles told his daughter, "and you're delaying your own birthday cake, pumpkin," he added while looking at Hermione.

With a full stomach after three delicious Black Forest chocolate cake servings, plus a pile of brand new books and a fluffy red sweater with golden stripes for the fall and winter cold seasons, Hermione had to juggle while treading up the stairs and making her way to her bedroom when she noticed the half-expected present from her cousin. On the landing behind the partially hidden door leading to her attic, sat a small gaily wrapped present whose bow was larger than the content itself.

"_Thanks, Berny!_" she yelled down the corridor, before resuming her climb with one more gift in tow, unaware of Bernadette's smile and little shudder in her own room.

The following week held days that were too short for Hermione, she applied herself to school matters as usual, only she seemed even more detached from the teasing and name-calling than before, instead using all her free time to finish homework. Laura Lemebel had not returned since the flying book incident, which Hermione consciously chose to explain as her being too fast to turn and retrieve the stolen textbook, since books _do not hover_, nor reassemble themselves page by page. According to her giggling gang of dim-witted friends, Laura had transferred to another, even more exclusive elite school, however her absence did nothing to improve Hermione's standing before the other children.

Her mind was frantically looking for a way to investigate that warehouse full of animals, but how to get inside? She wasn't willing to ruin yet another set of clothes or risk breaking her neck by jumping in from the high windows. Whenever she wasn't thinking of saving imprisoned fauna or excelling in classes, she applied herself to solving the intricate puzzle Mrs Morewitt had given her.

Wearing the colourful beaded necklace she had received from Bernadette for her birthday together with the golden pendant she never took off for any reason, Hermione stopped by The Earmarked Parlour after classes for her usual weekly cup of tea and to surreptitiously monitor all movement in and out of the building across the street. Small talk ensued as the sun travelled further west, casting elongated shadows on the street and signalling the end of office hours, flooding the same streets with people coming and going, of which a select minority stepped inside the bookshop at one time or another.

Occasionally Mrs Morewitt would cross the doorway to the back-room of the shop and stay out of sight for long minutes, time Hermione took to resume her note taking, describing the appearance of every person going in or out, at what hour of the evening and what they were carrying. She managed to get permission from aunt Claire to visit more than twice a week, but even so after a couple months of surveillance she could hardly discern any movement patterns. Her observation times were too short and scarce.

"I need a way in, and a distraction," she pondered while resting diagonally over her huge bed at night, "and I know _exactly_ who can do it."

It took quite some convincing, pleading and bribing to obtain Bernadette's help, she had finally settled for a full month of chores _and_ preferential rights to the lavatory; if both girls arrived at the same time in the morning, Hermione would have to yield. They never shook hands for the agreement, she had extended her hand but her cousin backed away as if burnt by fire.

The very following evening, they excused themselves from aunt Claire's shop under different pretexts and made their way to a large steel curtain door, where they banged until an old, half-toothless man appeared by a side door.

"_Hello!_ We're Berny and Hermy," greeted Bernadette using her most stunningly chipper voice, "both of us are students at the prestigious James Lillywhite Junior School over Regent Street, and we're conducting a survey of select businesses in the area!"

As her cousin finished bombarding the haggard looking man who came to open the door, Hermione could actually see her jumping up and down with the notepad and pencil in hand. Yes, this was going to work perfectly!

"Would you kindly spare a few minutes of your precious time to answer some of our questions? _Pleaseee?_"

While the old man stood trying to process who and what the two little girls were and wanted, Hermione and Bernadette rounded him and burst into what looked like a loading paddock, with large and small wooden crates strewn and piled all over the floor.

"Are these _real_ boxes? Oh! It's a box factory, isn't it?" Hermione fought the urge to slap her own forehead, rolling her eyes and hoping this was part of her cousin's "giggle girl" impersonation rather than a truthful question. The man simply nodded in confusion, before denying it.

"Nay, 'em boxes 'r fer furniture, ya see?" he walked to a large open-lidded box, and beneath the hundreds of foam peanuts he wiped away stood a very impressive tropical wood dinner table. Hermione frowned upon both environment damaging goods, thinking of the polystyrene non-degradable foam and the surely protected green-forest trees they killed to craft that furniture piece.

"So your business is related to importing foreign furniture?" the younger of the two girls asked.

"Aye, Mr Roberts' business... What d'ya want 'ere again?" he asked, scratching his ear in a circular motion with his right hand little finger and then sniffing the tip. He failed to notice both Granger girls gagging.

"We're doing an assignment for school, and we need to know what kind of activi--", Hermione nudged Bernadette on her ribs, "I mean do you occupy the entire building for furniture only?"

"Old man Polkiss here is our warehouse janitor and night keeper, ladies," a well dressed man, not older than fifty greeted after exiting an office door by the south wall of the unloading area behind them, "my name is Barty Roberts how may I help you?"

Hermione took the initiative this time, explaining their supposed school assignment and asking for a tour of the building. Mr Roberts narrowed his eyes for a few seconds and finally agreed, making a small hand motion for Mr Polkiss behind their backs before pushing the girls up a flight of iron steps.

"As you already saw, the area below us is used for receiving, shipping and storing our imported or manufactured articles, while up here on our second floor we have the wood crafting shop and glass container fabrication."

"Oh! Is that an aquarium? It's so huge!"

"Yes indeed, and those are bell-shaped domes for jewellery or other items needing protection from dust or curious hands," he added, "we can produce almost any kind of glass enclosure."

While her cousin kept Mr Roberts busy answering a tirade of never-ending questions, Hermione slipped away to the third floor and, after pushing a series of boxes and a large steel sliding door a foot or so to cross, found the barred doorway to the large room holding the "jungle in a box". She drew a detailed sketch of the building itself and wrote down the names of all animals she could see before swiftly returning to the metal workshop she had found.

"Oy, what 'r ya doin' girl?" yelled the old night keeper.

She jumped a foot in the air, turned around and showed the man her drawing, a stick figure wearing a wool cap similar to Mr Polkiss' ghastly yellow one, carrying a box out of a lorry.

"Aw, ain't it sweet... All right, you ain't s'posed to walk 'round 'ere alone, now go meet yer friend downstairs!"

Hermione reached the second floor and asked "What's on the third floor?" startling Mr Roberts who had not seen her approach. She winked at her cousin Bernadette and passed a folded paper behind her back, that her cousin quickly hid inside her rucksack while pretending to be looking for another, better sharpened pencil.

"A simple metal workshop and another storage area for the more exclusive and expensive items, which we hoist using that elevator over there."

"Furniture items?"

"Why yes of course, what else could it be?" answered the older man with a glare.

"Nothing, only _furniture_ indeed," Hermione replied with a matching glare of her own.

With barely a pleasantry after that last exchange, the Granger cousins were promptly shown outside and the steel curtain lowered again. Hermione was certain the man who identified himself as Barty Roberts suspected her and would likely make a move that very same cold winter day. She asked Bernadette for her camera and to cover for her at night, which cost her yet another two weeks of house chores.

"Hermione, are you sure? It's freezing cold outside, you'd better just call the police and tell them what you saw!"

"No, they'll not believe me, and if that man moves the animals tonight by the time they investigate there'll be no evidence left."

"But it's Christmas this Sunday!" Bernadette insisted, "You _stubborn dork_, you'll be in bed with pneumonia for the entire hols if you do this!"

"Don't care, Berny! This is more important and I'll be back tomorrow morning before they even think of me..."

"D'you even have money for a cab?" her cousin asked in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, I sold a pair of silver earrings last month..."

"Those big, mismatched ones? You _are_ a dork! Why didn't you just ask my mum for money?" she screamed in the middle of the street.

"Because this is _my_ quest and my choice," Hermione replied, "because if I get to do something by myself that my uncles feel proud of... T-Then they might e-even get to like me..."

"Oh c'mon Hermione! You know mum and dad love you, it's just that-that..." Bernadette trailed off without completing the sentence.

"That they're afraid of me," Hermione finished sadly.

Bernadette huffed and continued walking to Kyles, where her mother Claire worked. Hermione saw her cousin glancing at her every few seconds over her shoulder and sped up to match her longer strides. They went home that evening with a much less enthusiastic than usual Bernadette in the car, prompting aunt Claire to ask if there was something wrong; both girls shrugged and carried on staring out the windows without any further conversation.

"It's time, the cab should be arriving by corner in a few minutes Jim," Hermione spoke to her cat companions, "and I'll be returning in the morning John, so keep your friend busy and tell Kettle not to worry!" Sometimes she felt silly speaking to the animals, but if they didn't understand her words, somehow her tone was enough to convey some basic form of communication.

She reviewed her wallet and picture camera, adjusted her black jeans and pulled the hood of her black nylon climbing jacket over her tightly tied hair. A snow-proof sleeping bag hung rolled together on her left shoulder tied to the bag holding the camera, a notepad, many energy bars and a large water bottle. Hermione grabbed the knotted rope tied to the cornice on top of her attic window and descended back first, careful not to make any unnecessary noise or showing herself outside any windows.

Once on firm ground, she ran to the street corner where she had asked for transportation using the phone at Kyles that evening. The cab had arrived a few minutes early, and Hermione thanked the taxi driver for it as she gave him directions to one street north of The Earmarked Parlour.

"Is your mum waiting for you there, kid?"

"No, she died when I was two," she bluntly answered, effectively cutting all conversation from before it even started.

The vehicle stopped and she exited in a hurry, looking both sides first and darting down a narrow space between two buildings. Hermione climbed up to the roof, readjusted her load and crawled over the ledge, circumventing the noisy tin and aluminium ventilation and air conditioning ducts. Upon reaching a suitable, angled shingle roof, she swung her legs over and let her body fall on it, flexing her knees and rolling twice to ease the impact.

"This is terribly boring," she complained, "it's almost eleven and nothing happens!" Hermione had expected surveillance to be, well less boring than freezing on a roof for endlessly extended hours. She had already consumed a couple of energy bars when a quarter or so to one in the morning a large lorry ran twice past the warehouse, rearing towards the loading paddock when a certain somebody wearing a characteristic yellow wool cap flashed a torch at it.

"Ha! I knew he'd make a move tonight!" She grinned to herself and opened the sleeping bag, removed the camera from its bag and slowly wriggled forward to the very edge of the roof. Careful not to use the flash, she snapped a few shots, spending four of the thirty two frames available in the photo film. The street light partially illuminated the blue lorry's front license plate but nothing could be seen on the other side where it was being loaded.

Hermione decided to take a risk and move closer, the running motor and the noise coming from the animals inside the crates was enough to mask her own footsteps. She tightened her hair and hood again, before descending a set of fire escape stairs and positioning herself some twenty yards away across the street. Suddenly a vehicle rounded a corner and parked at a right angle against the blue lorry, Hermione pushed the shutter twice to capture evidence of Mr Roberts on the site and walking into the warehouse.

Half an hour later the lorry had become a jungle on wheels, Hermione witnessed Mr Polkiss boarding the cabin with a disgruntled look and Mr Roberts walking to his car and opening the trunk, only to return inside carrying a petrol tank and several rags. The tell-tale smell of burning wood and the orange glow behind the two motor vehicles alerted her of what happened. Mr Roberts didn't intend to return! If she failed to follow him somehow, even with her photographic evidence in hand the police would never find him!

As fire gained strength and consumed the building, the arsonist returned and had a fierce discussion with the old night keeper through the open door of the cabin. Hermione used the distraction to cross the lane and kneel behind Mr Roberts' German made sedan, she looked at the arguing men again and ran as fast her small legs could carry her, lifting the PVC canvas and jumping inside the lorry to share a ride with her new fellow travellers.

The transport vehicle exited the burning building but the bushy-haired girl couldn't see Mr Roberts driving behind them, therefore she hoped he was leading the lorry to its destination instead. "Well, let's see what I can find here," she mumbled ten minutes into their journey while writing animal names on a notepad, "monkeys, parrot, another parrot, tiger, lizard-- Tiger!?" the loud growl of a young, male, unquestionably male she confirmed after a quick check, striped Bengal tiger made her cower slightly against the cages holding annoyingly neurotic spider monkeys, "How in the world did they manage to smuggle a tiger into the country?"

All she could state with absolute certainty was her given name and the fact it was cold, really, _really_ cold. Hermione shivered as the freezing late December wind battered the flimsy canvas covering the lively shipment. She could only guess, but it seemed to be around five in the morning, although her constant drowsiness and sporadic plunges into deep sleep made it difficult to tell. "Why didn't anybody give me a watch for my birthday..." she thought, before falling into her dreams again.

The strangely familiar boy was standing in front of her, his palm face forward as if reaching for her but never touching. His expression now that of concern, he seemed worried and whispered "Where are you?" in her right ear, barely an instant before she felt the ground shaking and piles of rubble buried her tiny body under the collapsed building that killed her parents. "I don't know," she mumbled in her troubled sleep.

Hermione had finished distributing her meals among the other passengers, the toucans and parrots found the energy bars most appetizing, but the Madagascar lizards simply scoffed at the food and walked right over it. The monkeys tried to eat the wrapping foil as well, Hermione rolled her eyes at how much they resembled certain humans she knew, and threw the last portion inside the tiger's cage. It sniffed the energy bar and looked at her as if asking whether she was plain crazy or simply delusional.

The lorry began to slow down and turn right and left, she peeked under the canvas and saw they were in a large city, and that the sun was already up. The restless animals continued to make their jungle-like cackle until their transport entered a building, it appeared to be the end of their journey and Hermione needed to exit the lorry before she was caught.

She held the camera and her bag, closed her jacket and let her wild hair loose over the hood, ready to jump as the speed decreased enough. Barty Roberts, however, was an impatient man and climbed the back of the large transport vehicle before it even parked.

"You!" he pointed upon lifting the flap, "What... How... Why... _Who_ are you and what are you doing here?"

"Who's that ya talkin' to, guv'nor?" asked Mr Polkiss from behind.

"They've found me! They've found me!" Hermione panicked and backed away, "What was I thinking? Oh, they're gonna kill me and I never got a chance to meet green-eyes again!" As she curled into a ball, closing her eyes and clutching her knees together, she heard the swoosh of the canvas being pulled away and then a series of loud metallic clicks and clunks.

"What the--"

"Bloody--"

Whatever expletives the men were about to say were roughly cut by growls, squeaks and screams. Hermione felt a rustle of wings and clawed feet on top of her head, regained enough control to peek between her fingers using one eye only, and came eye to eye with the most comforting deep brown irises in front of her. "Kettle!" she yelled, hugging the enormous raven with all her might, causing the bird to screech, "How'd you find me?"

"Run Otis, run!" screamed Mr Roberts while climbing to the top of the lorry, he watched with a look Hermione could only describe as morbid fascination when the not so small young Bengal tiger tumbled old Mr Polkiss, whose lucky stars must have been shining bright that day as a pair of spider monkeys distracted the feline long enough for him to escape.

She noticed the PVC canvas laying neatly folded ten yards away, yet even more intriguing was the fact that the steel cages seemed to have dismantled themselves, as if the welds had given way, liberating mammals, reptiles and avian species alike around the spacious dingy warehouse. Kettle the raven flew away through a broken window and Hermione followed the same idea, albeit by running on the ground since she had no wings.

The tiger was now prancing around the lorry, stalking the insane looking Mr Roberts as he swung his feet in a pendulum motion, teasing the orange beast. "I saw what you did!" he yelled upon setting his gaze on Hermione, "I don't know _what_ you are, but I. Saw. You!"

Confused by those words, she continued to run in order to find a telephone. The offices by the warehouse entrance had phones but no working lines, and she dared not continue to try them lest old Polkiss find her, so Hermione exited the building and sprinted away to a street corner, where a smoking man was sweeping the steps of a small pub aptly named The Corner Steps.

"I need to use your phone!"

"Aye girl, 's on the back," he replied pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

Every beep seemed to last an hour, "C'mon... Berny answer the phone, please!" she whispered. Hermione was about to give up when by the eleventh ring someone answered.

"Granger residence!"

"Oh... Er... Is Bernadette there?"

"May I ask who's calling?"

"A friend, from school?"

Strange sounds Hermione wasn't familiar with and most certainly didn't belong to the normal background noise of her home ensued, until her cousin answered in a stressed voice, "H-Hullo?"

"Berny! You've gotta help--"

"Hermione! _Mum it's her!_" she screamed, making her wonder if she had just lost a few decibels of hearing sensitivity forever.

"Yeah, it's me, what's go--"

"_My goodness child, where in the name of Gutenberg are you?_" aunt Claire yelled, effectively increasing the chances of Hermione losing half her hearing on the right ear. Just then the unknown voice belonging to the man who answered her call came on the receiver, "Ms Granger? This is Police Commissioner Louis Lamont, I need to--"

"Just a second, P.C. Lamont," she interrupted, "I'm being chased by two men who are animal smugglers and started a fire on a commercial building located in Old Compton Street, and--"

"Please tell me where you are right this moment and we'll send a squad vehicle to protect you!"

"Oh, right, er..." Hermione had no idea where she was, so she took one of the coasters from the bar and read, "The Corner Steps Pub, _Manchester_? Oh bother, please tell my uncles I'm--" gasping at the sight of a man's silhouette by the pub entrance, Hermione hung the receiver and shrank as much as possible behind the stained bar.

"I need 'em strong drinks, a double, nay, make 't a triple whiskey!" the old man said, removing a yellow cap and arranging his thin buttocks on the bar stool, "ya've ever seen sumthin' ya ain't believin' yer own eyes?"

The man who was sweeping the steps moved behind the bar and saw the pleading face on Hermione, who was hiding under the beer dispenser. "Hmmm, dunno sir, nothing much happens 'round here... What'd you see?"

Mr Polkiss sighed and hesitated for a minute, "A girl, wee small girl, she'd... Can't say 'ow she'd possibly--"

"Excuse me gents," a new voice called from the door, Hermione couldn't see the man and only heard a small murmur before he commanded the barman and Otis Polkiss to leave with him, "now, come outside with me!"

She peeked over the bar and ducked just in time as both man stepped back into the pub, she crawled back under the wall telephone and ran to the lavatory where she washed herself a little and sat on the closed lid of the water cup, waiting for the police to arrive. Hermione sighed and rubbed her tired eyes, "Well, I've got pictures and that man Barty Roberts is probably still on top of the lorry, or became tiger food... if only Tajy had eaten some energy bars he'd be less dangerous," she kept thinking, before turning her attention to an insisting tapping on the lavatory window.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed noticing the raven, "Kettle, that's the second time today you've found me! And how'd you follow me to Manchester of all places?" Hermione rummaged for some crumbs in her jacket pockets and offered them to her jet black companion.

Yelling and rough banging came from the pub's main area and Kettle flew away, Hermione heard someone shout "Where's the girl?" and the voice she associated with the barman replied never seeing any girl matching that description. A second later the lavatory door burst open and she found herself in front of a uniformed woman police officer, who promptly asked her name and escorted her outside.

"Nay, ain't never seen wee girl 'ere, never before in me life, guv'nor," Mr Polkiss said as Hermione walked by. The barman also failed to identify her, and both man looked quite sincere about their statements.

"The animals!" Hermione explained to the woman who called herself Katherine Law while wrapping her in a warm blanket, "There's a lot of them and a big tiger in that warehouse!"

"It's all been controlled, darling, and--"

"What about the man, Mr Roberts? Was there a middle-aged man and a pearl coloured sedan there as well?"

"Yes, there's a man and a vehicle like you say. The tiger was peaceful and animal rescuers are taking them all to a safe location, now I need you to take a look at that man and tell me if he's the one who kidnapped you. Can you do that for me honey?"

Hermione nodded and walked hand in hand with Mrs Law, who asked her to sit while two other police officers dragged Mr Roberts to her. "No, no, _I don't know_ how those animals escaped, I had them all--" he stopped upon noticing the ten-year-old girl. Hermione saw that Mr Roberts remembered her, unlike Mr Polkiss who clearly had no memory of her.

"Is this the man who kidnapped you?" the police woman asked.

"I know this girl, she visited my furniture and glass workshop yesterday afternoon..." Mr Roberts stated, "Kidnapping? No, no, no I've not seen her ever since!"

"Oh, well, I kinda jumped inside the lorry when I saw them moving the animals and setting fire to the building. So technically he didn't kidnap me?" Hermione said looking at the floor, then she remembered, "But I've got pictures of everything right here!"

Reunited with her family that very same evening, Hermione learnt how by seven Saturday morning a police officer presented himself at her home bearing her wallet, Bernadette panicked and told her parents of her cousin's folly. Fifteen minutes later a Police Commissioner was installed in the Granger's home and a search of the area and of the burnt warehouse had produced her sleeping bag and an old candle holder with her matching fingerprints on it. They feared she had perished inside the building that Bernadette visited the day before, because according to the Fire Brigade it had been ignited around one in the morning and the flames were controlled by four, at which time they found the wallet by the destroyed gate.

It was a quarter past eight when Hermione phoned from the pub in Manchester and managed to dispel any thoughts of her ultimate fate and tell them where she was, before abruptly cutting the communication and leaving her uncles in a state of frenzy. The Greater Manchester Police was immediately contacted and a bulletin regarding Hermione's kidnapping was posted, mobilizing all officers available towards The Corner Steps, where she was ultimately found hiding in the bathroom.

Tajy the Bengal tiger was finally housed in a zoo located in Greater Manchester, along with the dozens of recovered species ranging from South American birds and monkeys to African crocodiles in Manchester and Brighton. Hermione's pictures proved both Mr Polkiss and Mr Roberts' involvement, and pressured the latter to confess and deliver enough information to dismantle a large international network of animal smugglers and drug related trafficking in the United Kingdom and abroad.

Hermione had kept newspaper clippings on the evolution of that investigation, although her name was kept out of the press by her family's request. Uncle Charles being a prominent solicitor had made it very clear that not a single name initial be printed, or else he would see to it that the walls of lawyer bureaucracy break down upon them. By early February the investigations had revealed how they hid endangered species inside imported furniture containers; these containers were never reviewed because the very same port authority officer would always be on duty by the time of arrival.

"But _how_ did the cages fall apart?" she wondered while glancing at the newspaper clippings on the attic wall, before returning to her reading on the creaking rocking chair. Hermione remembered that twenty third of December in Manchester when the animal handlers had discussed how the welds seemed to have evaporated and the padlocks dismantled, thus liberating the diverse fauna. She shrugged and continued with her annotated, Spanish-English double language edition of Don Quijote de la Mancha, laughing at the misfortune that plagued the poor impulsive old man, he would be appreciated if only people were in real danger and his foes had any substance at all.

Her eleventh birthday was coming soon, she had spent another enjoyable summer with Miranda at her bookshop and was ready for another year of solitary schooling, proving the world how worthy she is. "Green-eyes liked me at first sight," she murmured sadly, hoping to see him again, if only once more in her lifetime.

Somehow it was his inspiring memory that pushed her into accepting an invitation by uncle Charles' Charity Foundation bearing her name to visit a small school in Little Whinging, Surrey. She would have to miss classes but this primary school had developed an excellent music program for little children, and Hermione loved the idea of encouraging new talents despite the fact she had never tried to learn to play anything beyond the recorder flute herself. If she could inspire others like the black-haired boy behind the glass had done for her, she would gladly do it.

Little Whinging Primary School was, well it was modest, bordering the description of "a dump" by the looks of it. The building itself was in urgent need of a paint coat and the gardens were unkempt, even the gates themselves were rusty. There seemed to be a fowl odour in the air, Hermione would learn later that day it came from a fishery situated next to the school, one that stocked on not-so-fresh fish after all.

"Welcome, welcome to my school!" greeted a medium built bald man with deep brown eyes wearing a deep blue suit and Hermione looked up at her escorts looking for guidance. Mrs Wright was a family friend and director of the Charity, next to her stood Mr Clark, a musician himself who was organizing a musical contest among all the schools that have received donations and support by the H.J. Granger Foundation and Mr Green, a tall and pale man she didn't recognize and had absolutely no idea what his job was, or why he was there.

Mrs Wright was first to greet the man she addressed as Headmaster Albert Bullion, followed by Mr Green and Mr Clark, who then introduced Hermione to the nervous looking Headmaster and his companions, a young assistant secretary and the History, Music and Mathematics teachers. During the handshakes and greetings, Hermione caught a glimpse of a group of children having fun and playing chase by the main entrance, until one of them threw a soda can at the chased boy, a thin student not older than nine with an unnervingly familiar mop of jet-black hair on top. Hermione tried to point and show the teachers what happened but they were too engrossed in their own conversation to notice her. "It's the same thing everywhere," she contemplated by herself, remembering the time some classmates had thrown chewing gum in her hair, only because she had achieved the best grades in her year, resulting in a very short new haircut for that particular summer.

The adults dragged her to visit the school playground, where Mrs Wright remarked how worn-out all the equipment was. Hermione tried one of the swings and it snapped no sooner than she pushed herself back, falling on the coarse sand. She rubbed her sore bum and glared at the Headmaster from the ground, who in turn was now paler than Mr Green.

"Let's hope you can show us improvements inside, and show us some of the gifted, talented children in Mr Harper's Musical Education Programme, shall we?" Mrs Wright said while helping Hermione up.

"Naturally! Well, ahem, please follow me then," Mr Bullion indicated, while whispering something in the Music teacher's ear.

They walked to the main entrance and Ms Flores, the assistant secretary, left to resume her duties along with all the teachers. They paused for an observation or another, until reaching the Music room where an upright piano dominated the left wall, the teacher's desk stood diagonally in the northwest corner while sheet music stands and stools indicated the positions for strings, brass and percussion players. While Mr Clark reviewed a folder in his hands, he motioned for Mrs Wright to approach and pointed furiously at something in his papers. Hermione heard hurried footsteps and within seconds the Music teacher reappeared in the room, accompanied by a girl her same age.

"This is Annie, she's a talented pianist along with Harry, our other piano student but I couldn't find him..." he trailed off before motioning for the girl named Annie to sit and play something for them. She looked at Hermione, who shrugged and mouthed "sorry" before closing her eyes for a second and then performing a very beautiful rendition of Fr Elise, the popular piece by Beethoven.

"May we have a word with you gentleman, behind closed doors?" Mrs Wright asked, pulling Mr Bullion and Mr Harper to another room across the corridor.

Hermione stood there alone, nervously looking anywhere but at the other girl who stared as if evaluating her, before finally speaking. "Hi, I'm Annie Atkins," she introduced herself.

"Hrmiongrnr," came her hurried and muffled reply.

"Excuse me? I didn't get your name, sorry," Annie politely said.

She sighed and looked straight at the brown-haired girl this time, repeating "Hermione Granger," and extending her hand.

"You're _the_ Hermione Granger? You know, from the Charity Foundation? Wicked!" she bent forward on the piano bench and continued to pelter Hermione with questions while the bell rang indicating classes had resumed.

"No, it's not like that," she answered, "I'm not rich, I definitely _do not_ use this as an excuse to meet cute boys as you said, and I don't really care for the use of my name..."

"I'd think someone like you would be, you know, a stuck-up!" the pianist girl added, "I'm glad to see you're just like me."

Those words put Hermione off-balance for a moment. "Just like her?" she thought, and then wondered if this Annie girl would continue to think the same after spending a few days in Hermione's company. "No, nobody wants to be friends with dorky-mione," she concluded sadly.

Annie was about to say something when she jumped and pushed Hermione with her over the side, knocking several stools and trumpets to the ground. Hermione panicked when the blast of a metallic cabinet hitting the classroom floor combined with her instinctual reaction given past bad experiences took this to be a physical attack. Further bangs and blasts followed as she desperately tried to push her would-be attacker from top of her, until she heard high-pitched screams not belonging to her or to Annie, who was now just as scared as she was.

"D-Dudley?" Hermione heard the girl say. A very fat, blond boy was cowering against the wall pointing at Hermione with a trembling hand, which made his thick arms wobble, and screaming like a little girl while two other boys tried to open the door.

"You could've killed someone, you stupid pig!" Annie yelled, "Why'd you push that cabinet, 'cause it's fun? I'm done running from all of--"

Hermione noticed Annie's sudden interruption and stifled a laugh when she waved a hand in front of the fat boy's face, whole-heartedly agreeing that he looked like a pig; his haircut did make him resemble a biped pig with a blonde-coloured wig on top. Meanwhile, Dudley continued to shake and point at Hermione, mumbling something about "another one" and making her really nervous.

"Annie? Is the pig dangerous?"

"Not right now, I guess..."

"What about those two?" Hermione whispered, indicating the two red-faced boys trying to wrench the door open.

"They only do what Dudley tells them to do, so don't worry..."

"Thanks, you saved me and I t-thought... I thought you were gonna punch me or something," Hermione told her newest acquaintance while staring at the floor.

"I saw the cabinet toppling over you," she answered, "and you'd do the same for me, I'm sure."

Both girls released a tense laugh and startled when the boys finally opened the door, fighting each other for the right to go first. They exited the darkened room to meet Mr Green grilling the Headmaster about the poor conditions of this school, what with jammed doors and loose windows shutters that could hit a student's head upon the slightest windy conditions.

"You three!" the Headmaster commanded, pointing at the large boy named Dudley and his two friends, "Headteacher's office, now!"

Annie took her leave, said goodbye and walked away while Hermione and her entourage left the building using a side entrance. As the aggravated and jittery group led by Mr Bullion exited, they found yet another unpleasant sight in the shattered windows of a classroom. The nervous Headmaster began to concoct some half-witted explanation while Hermione blanched, thinking that perhaps she had some part in this, noticing the unhinged aluminium shutters. She did hear Mr Green say their door was locked and the shutters closed by themselves, same as in the Music room. "It was only the wind, _and_ humidity, doors and windows _do not close by themselves_," Hermione rationalized.

"Yes, ahem, well... As you can see we-we... Well we're rebuilding a few of the classrooms, you see? Oh, watch out for the broken glass!"

"And having classes inside all the while?" Mrs Wright asked with an ever stronger reproachful tone as more and more problems occurred within this visit.

"Oh, no, these children were... Ahem... Learning about construction sites, that is!" and the school Headmaster added, "Maybe the foundation could, perhaps, help us in this matter?"

One of the many teachers who had greeted them on the gates waved with a toothy smile and the children inside did the same, innocently waving at their Headmaster and some unknown people while they passed by. Hermione sighed and looked up at the tall Music teacher, "By the way, what's that awful smell, Mr Harper?"

"You noticed, huh? It's the fishery next door, they'd sell you a months-old cod for fresh tuna!" he whispered in her ear.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and gagged, stepping up the pace and reaching for the gates as fast as her feet could carry her. Mr Clark and Mrs Wright departed with a promise to return before the planned musical event to be held in London to see that certain anomalies are verified, while Mr Green opened the door of his spacious blue Bentley sedan for her to climb on-board.

Christmas holidays soon arrived to mark one year since her notorious escapade, and uncle Charles was stubbornly braving the cold weather to keep watch over a certain white-framed, round attic window facing east, from where Hermione shouted, for umpteenth time, that she wasn't going to save anyone tonight. "Actually, I am," she said and left her attic wearing a thick jacket, walking downstairs and standing next to her uncle under the stars, "If you're not staying inside, then I'll keep you company out here uncle Charles!"

He looked at her determined eyes and sighed, "All right, let's go inside for some hot chocolate, pumpkin," he said, stretching his arms and then holding the door open for her.

"You might catch a severe cold if you stay out there, I promise I won't go out tonight."

"Aren't you scared, or anxious about today?" uncle Charles asked.

She blew her hot chocolate mug and answered, "No, whatever happened last year was my choice, and it turned out all right, didn't it?"

"You've got so much courage, Hermione," he said with a sad look in his face, "it reminds me of my little brother..."

Hermione sighed and waved goodnight to her uncle, taking a refilled mug with her. "I've got my father's courage," she sing-songed to herself while preparing for bed.

The winter months had claimed her feline friend Jim's life, she found the cat frozen on the steps of the park gazebo where it enjoyed taking sun baths; Jim was buried next to it that same evening. Her other cat John however was lazy and spent the cold days always curled by the pot-belly stove, while Kettle the raven continued to take residence perched on one of the attic beams, going out for food once or twice a day. Hermione couldn't care less for the regurgitated pellets, but the big black bird was a good friend.

School term pulled ahead of that very crude winter to give way to the flowering season, aunt Claire who suffered pollen induced allergies hated spring despite the overwhelming colours and blossoming life, bur Hermine enjoyed the chance to use the school yard more often, at least she could climb the old beech again and read there while avoiding her classmates.

"C'mon Hermy!" yelled her cousin Bernadette, "You're always making a fuss about this... Your name's on the Foundation, _get used to it!_"

"I won't!" she childishly replied from the top of the stairs. It was the Friday morning of the H.J. Granger organized musical competition, where all of the schools that received donations from her uncle Charle's Charity in that area of the arts and sciences were presenting their best talents. "Besides, I promised I was _never_ going to wear a dress again!"

"Whom did you promise such a stupid thing?" Bernadette asked.

"Myself!" replied Hermione, still sitting on the top step leading to and from her attic.

Needless to say, she answered her aunt Claire's final call and, straightening up her jade green dress, descended the stairs to get in the car and be driven to an auditorium full of strangers ready to remind her of how she lost her parents.

The assembly room the Granger family arrived in was absolute chaos; from violins to trombones, champagne bottles to roasted veal and an impossibly large number of people in an inadequately small area trying to perform different tasks at the same time filled that space from top to bottom. If she stood on her toes, it was a forest of arms, while if she dropped to crawl, the room became a forest of legs!

"Mr Granger!" somebody yelled and was later pushed by a large man carrying a triple stack of crystal wine glasses, "Over here, if you please!" the same woman screamed after resurfacing.

"Lorraine?" uncle Charles asked, taking Bernadette and aunt Claire's hands and leading them across the perilous sea of frantic humans.

Hermione watched them busy themselves with Mrs Wright and turned around to exit and take a stroll through the hedgerow lined pathways. It was still early and the performers, she grinned good-naturedly over applying the term "performer" to children, some probably much younger than herself, were not due to arrive until eleven for the first presentation at a quarter to noon.

A deep cawing drew her attention to the heavens, she blinked and swirled in a circle, shielding her eyes from the sun with her right hand. "There you are, I don't know how you've managed to find me everywhere, Kettle," she said, recognizing the unusually large shiny bird, it's missing left foot toe and familiar beak shape.

"Move along, please, move along!" came a female voice by the front entrance. Hermione approached and saw eager seven to eleven year-old girls and boys exiting a large van, dozens of children! They were so happy and singing along as a chorus, she could only follow them inside and find herself a comfortable armchair to sit and watch their hustle and bustle.

It was half past eleven when aunt Claire came looking for Hermione, she was needed backstage to greet the jurymen that would be evaluating the child musicians. She met a humourless French man who played First Violin in the London Symphony Orchestra, his attempts at a joke were an actual joke themselves. Many introductions and handshakes later, followed by most sincere apologies for her parents' fate, she found herself free to procure the topmost seating in the auditorium, from where Hermione could enjoy the music without interruptions.

A pause was scheduled from one to half past two, for lunch and mingling so that students from different schools could meet and share their experiences, Hermione waited until her new wristwatch beeped two o'clock and left for the main hall, where she was soon blinded by several flashbulbs being triggered at her. She smiled politely and quickly made her way to the tables, selecting a few _hors d'oeuvres_ and choosing a chilled natural juice glass.

Her cousin Bernadette had already made some friends and was laughing with them a few yards away, aunt Claire seemed to be discussing the merits of seriffed fonts over sans serif in small formats with some unfortunate woman, and then she caught uncle Charles' eye, who excused himself from two other elegantly dressed men to stand by her side, albeit an arm's length apart.

"Ready for your speech, pumpkin?"

She shrugged and took another sip from her glass, "Yes, it's only a thank you note, after all..."

"You don't have to--"

"I want to, I'm proud of the opportunities your Charity Foundation can provide all these children," Hermione stated. She was about to say something regarding the afternoon performances when a woman walked straight towards Mrs Wright, demanding to speak with the director of the Charity. Nodding at her uncle to go over there and sort the situation, she picked an appetizing treacle tart serving and left to wait for her turn at the podium, on the elaborate stage.

Spotlights blinded her and prevented seeing anyone seating in the auditorium beyond the first couple of rows, she took her place and, picturing the little boy's face whose bright green eyes would always encourage her in moments like these, cleared her throat and delivered a quick ten-lines address in appreciation of all the Foundation donors' effort and praise for the talented children. She left the stage under rapturous applause, received a smile from her uncles and walked upstairs to reclaim her topmost seating place, where Bernadette in her "gossip mood" soon found her and delivered the news that some cute boy from a primary school in Little Whinging had been seen backstage accusing his teacher of stealing donated funds and instruments, a fact confirmed by an assistant secretary of that very same school.

Hermione returned home both excited and angered that evening, she understood there were bad people in the world, her adventure as an animal saviour was proof of that, but stealing dreams and opportunities from children was simply despicable. She did enjoy the musical performances though, and applauded the girl named Annie Atkins she had met a few months ago. Annie had recognized her as well, and during the award ceremony where she had achieved third place, managed to exchange telephone numbers and asked her to call in the summer. Noticing that Hermione didn't know quite what to do, Annie told her she would like them to be friends, said goodbye and left with her teacher.

"I've made a friend..." Hermione whispered while looking out the window in the back seat of uncle Charles' vehicle, bringing a smile to her lips.

The last week of school brought, unsurprisingly, news of Hermione achieving the best grades in her year again, and the joyful days of summer to come. She was looking forward to happy days spent at The Earmarked Parlour and, if nothing out of the ordinary happened and Annie didn't find her to be "too much of a dork", with a friend her own age.

A week before the end of July, her cousin Bernadette asked aunt Claire to drive her to meet some friends in Surrey, where they would spent the day at the zoo. Hermione knew Claire was afraid of leaving her niece alone in the house, lest there be no house upon her return. She was staying at home because Mrs Morewitt, the bookshop owner, had told Hermione she was closing the shop for a couple of weeks or so, and would be letting her know when she was welcome to visit and help again; she found it strange that Mrs Morewitt had never asked for her phone number, or home address for that matter, but the conversation had moved along and she dismissed the issue.

Therefore, without a bookshop to attend to and Annie travelling abroad until the middle of August, Hermione was brought along for a day at the zoo with Berny and her giggling friends. The weather was stifling, every shadow was a welcome paradise and the ice-cream sellers were having trouble keeping the "ice" a part of their offerings; flavoured melted creamy goo was more like it.

Aunt Claire was leading the group of girls away from the reptile exhibit when shouting and running people went in and out of the area they had just vacated, "What's all that commotion? Please tell me you don't have _anything_ to do with it, Hermione?" aunt Claire asked.

She looked sadly at her feet, before shaking her bushy curls around. She really wished she could control those unbelievably impossible events around her, yet all she could do was rationalize and find even more unbelievable and far-fetched explanations for them. "I'm innocent of everything, aunt Claire," she said, before being pushed with an index finger towards the gardens next to the zoo.

Her cousin Bernadette and her friends sat on a table savouring the ice-cream they had asked for while her aunt and she sat, as far apart as possible, on a nearby bench under the welcome shadow of an ageing tree. Aunt Claire produced her shop's latest best-selling mystery novel from her purse and began to read, twitching slightly with every little sound around her as if expecting her niece to bring the end of mankind with a single breath.

Rummaging through her plastic bag, recycled of course, Hermione found the brochure detailing all different reptiles the zoo had on exhibit, explaining their habits and origin. As her aunt twitched for the fifth time, she sighed and returned the informative reading to the depths of her huge bag, standing up and walking around to appreciate the quite beautiful gardens behind them. She had spotted a marvellous semi-circular flower bed full of bluebells when a sudden movement caught her eye. The flowers seemed to be moving back and forth in a swirling path, unlike anything the wind could ever cause.

The idea of _never_ stepping on a manicured garden, let alone a delicate flower bed, was a strong deterrent to her curiosity, however she then remembered the welcoming sign at the Royal Botanical Gardens asking people to walk on the grass, smell the flowers, hug the trees and talk to the birds. Yes, a little investigation, if taking enough care to pamper the flowers, wouldn't be a transgression of any rule! Determined, Hermione began to crawl and follow the unusual ripple. She followed it along the edge of the flower bed, until deciding to trace a diagonal intercept course.

Deep black, beady eyes met curious, lively brown ones as boa and child met face to face. Hermione instantly recognized it from the booklet on snakes she had jut read, "What's a tropical boa like you doing out here?" she asked, still mere inches from the reptile's bifid tongue. The patterned black, brown and clear beige animal seemed to drop its head in defeat, as if being caught by a human was the end of a dream.

"I know that look," the girl said, her uncontrollable hair falling over her face, "I saw the same hopeless face on a gecko once, and most reptiles in there sported it too."

She could almost recognize a snort coming from the boa, it then appeared to give up and simply coiled around itself, waiting to be picked-up. "You know, the zoo's got enough reptiles, you looked so happy out here and I can most certainly ask Kettle, or John if he ever shows up again, to share his rats with you!" Hermione heaved herself and careful not to squash any flowers, retrieved her large bag from the cobbled pathway. She waited for people to walk away or be focused on something else before swiftly stashing the rather heavy snake inside. Once done, she opened the bag and whispered, "Besides, I'm against animal cruelty, and they'd use those awful hooks and tongs on you."

Hermione did her best to disguise her moving bag of books, the large boa continued to wriggle and slither around trying to find a comfortable position and she was sure Bernadette had already seen the snake's tail popping out while riding back home in aunt Claire's car. Once in the safety of her attic, she let the boa slide out to recognize her new habitat.

"You need a name," she said while observing her newest room-mate, "what about... Blacksnout! I think it's a good and descriptive name."

Kettle eyed the large snake from the safety of his perching beam, he didn't look happy but didn't dive to attack it either, calming Hermione's apprehension that her new reptile friend could cause problems. Her cousin, however, was a different matter. Bernadette kept eyeing Hermione during dinner, making slithering gestures with her arm over the table and mouthing "I wanna see it" when her parents were not looking. She simply shrugged, teasing her incorrigibly nosy cousin but silently making plans to show Blacksnout to her the following morning before breakfast.

Summer appeared to bring comfortable temperatures for Blacksnout, who enjoyed coiling himself around a long wooden curtain pole Hermione had purchased in the local hardware store and installed on the wall, until she uncoiled him for some outdoor time every evening after returning from her usual reading places on top of some roof or tall tree, or from helping in some activity within her uncle Charles' Charity Foundation.

Hermione smiled while remembering how much courage it took for her to lift the phone receiver and make the first call to her new friend Annie Atkins. It had been awkward not knowing how to initiate a conversation, therefore she simply let the girl on the other side of the line speak for a while, congratulated her again for the beautiful piano performances and agreed to meet that very same Saturday.

They were surprised to find many things in common, both enjoyed music of course but they also had an affinity towards wanting to make the world a better place. Annie had told Hermione how she was inspired by a little boy who had once saved her from some bullies and recovered a lunchbox they had stolen from her all by himself; that same boy was scheduled to play for their school but he was brave enough to confront a teacher and expose him as a thief. Hermione was also glad that this girl had no preconceived notions about her, nor did she have to keep appearances or risk being ostracised simply for being friendly with her, since they went to different schools.

She returned to her attic that night after her usual roof roaming and exploring, took one last look at the stars and prepared to go to sleep. Kettle was already settled and she curled in her big king size bed, thinking about how much a little boy had inspired her as well, his black hair and deep, soul-piercing green eyes, and a scar on his forehead he had probably only ever shared with her. No crushing nightmares of death and crumbling walls bothered her that night.

It was no earlier than a quarter to six, according to her digital wristwatch, when an insistent tapping on her attic window awoke her. She mumbled something about Kettle and his unfortunate needs, half-lifted her right eyelid and dragged her feet to open the large round swivelling glass pane. She found it strange that Kettle would shine so brown against the early morning light. "Brown?" she repeated, "You're not Kettle!"

Had she been more attentive, she would have seen Kettle perched above and behind her, shaking its glossy black head. Hermione stood watching the brown bird, it was a barn owl with large yellow eyes and an uncharacteristically combed plumage, whomever it belonged to took very good care of it. She startled when the owl turned, picked a matte coloured item from the windowsill with its beak and flew to her own uncombed, messy morning-hair, bending itself and dangling an envelope made of what she recognized as parchment in front of her face.

"Is that for me?" she asked, and the owl rolled its eyes while she slowly read the upside down address on it, "Hermione J. Granger, _The East Wing Attic?_ What... Who... What?"

* * *

Notes:

I apologize for the extensive chapter. Nothing much to add, except ravens can live up to fifty years and are omnivorous.


	4. Chapter 4: Paper Cannot Wrap Up a Fire

**Chapter 4: Paper Cannot Wrap Up a Fire**

"A letter, for me?"

A very surprised almost eleven years old child stood behind the closed main door of an impeccably indistinct house in Surrey. Addressed to a Harry J. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, he was unmistakeably the intended recipient yet he couldn't for the life of him think of anyone who would even consider writing him a letter, a realization that added to Harry's already bipolar mood swings that summer. He had suffered deep grief when a lying thief he had once respected as a teacher betrayed his trust, turning what had been his only pathway to overcome worthlessness into a twisted, shattered maze of doubt and uncertainty. Was he truly a talented musician or was it all a charade? Could he ever find something to replace the freedom he experienced when letting his hands roam over a keyboard? "That's what music's about," Harry contemplated with a true smile, "it can't be imposed or squeezed out of you, it has to flow freely from the deepest... Well deepest _magic_ is a good word."

He was brought back to reality by his aunt Petunia's calls for him to start preparing breakfast, while she counted and registered every single can and box in the pantry. Harry had enough of adults and their lies, this letter was surely someone's idea of a joke, or perhaps Mr Harper trying to apologize. Either way, he ignored it and threw the unopened envelope inside his cupboard, where it landed neatly over the very stiff piece of foam that was his bed.

"What's taking you so long, boy?" uncle Vernon asked, waddling down the stairs and straightening his tie, "I'm a very important man at Grunnings, don't _you dare_ make me arrive late, you hear?"

"Yes uncle Vernon," came Harry's reply as he cracked a few eggs.

His uncle took his customary seat, unfolded his newspaper as he always did, and suddenly ceased to breathe. That, was not part of uncle Vernon's usual routine.

"_Petunia!_" he screamed after a large gasp, "O-Ow... Ow..."

"Out?" his aunt asked, " Awful? Outraging? Ou--"

"Owl, woman! _Owl!_" he finished, waving his meaty hand at the window, "_They've found him!_"

If Harry ever had doubts regarding his relatives' sanity they were certainly dispelled after today. He could resist the abusive and rough treatment, he could withstand the constant demeaning remarks about his parents, he could even enjoy his time alone while locked inside the cupboard. What he couldn't begin to understand was uncle Vernon's unexpected invitation to sit and have breakfast.

"I said, _sit_ and _eat_, boy!"

* * *

Yet another child received a similarly addressed letter that morning, as have around forty others in Great Britain, a very pleasant arrival for most, an unexpected surprise to some, and a simple procedure for a few. One particular bushy-haired girl in South London was quite awestruck by it.

"Hermione J. Granger, _The East Wing Attic?_ What... Who... What?"

The brown owl that had delivered the letter tried twice to untangle its feet from Hermione's hair, only managing to complete the impossible task with the small human girl's help, before drinking some water and flying out through the round window.

She read the address again, turned the envelope and traced the wax seal with a finger. She ran the back of her hand over the rough parchment surface, smelled the edges and weighed it on her open palm, she then picked an utility knife and carefully separated the seal from the backside, keeping it intact. If the envelope itself and the postman, well "post owl" in this case, were unusual, the written contents denied any possible classification.

"_Uncle Charles?_" she yelled while descending the stairs, two steps at a time, "Are you there?"

Her uncles replied from the kitchen, yet another floor down, and upon seeing her bewildered look asked what was wrong.

"This-this... Letter, this letter's wrong..." she said, presenting it for her aunt Claire to read.

"Hermione, there's no need to go to such lengths to try to explain what keeps hap--"

"I haven't made this letter up, if that's what you mean aunt Claire," she interrupted, "in fact I thought it was a prank of some kind?"

Uncle Charles took the odd letter in his hand and looked through it, holding it against the morning sun on the kitchen windows. He nodded approvingly and then picked the envelope, lit a match and briefly ran it under the red seal, then waved the letter itself over it. He let a small yelp as the fire reached his thumb and swiftly blew the burnt match before turning to Hermione.

"It looks genuine enough to me," he said while placing a hand on his wife's arm, "and neither Claire nor I would make a joke about your, your... The strange things that happen around you..."

At the moment Bernadette was descending the stairs for breakfast someone rapped the main door, Hermione heard her cousin yelling she would attend to it and watched as the young girl pushed a decorative curtain aside and looked outside, finding an old lady dressed in unusual dark clothes on their front yard. Bernadette waved for them to approach and pointed at the door, silently mouthing for them to "take a look" out the window.

The woman was playing with a wind-chime, using a long wooden stick to poke at it. She kept a stern face and turned her attention to the first of four garden gnomes aunt Claire had named Brian, Peter, Albert and, much her uncle's displeasure, Charles. It was a plaster figurine of a typical gnome, wearing a blue pointed cap, sporting a long white beard and half-moon spectacles on his face, holding a bundle of tiny logs under his arm. For some reason it made the old lady laugh and she faced the main door again, just in time to see four faces quickly vanishing from the side window.

"I'll greet her and ask her purpose here, you girls go have your breakfast," Charles said before unfastening the lock and drawing the woman's attention.

Hermione kept glancing at the odd letter over the counter, she had taken her usual seat by the corner of the room but was visibly stalling for time, her tea already too cold to drink. The woman outside had looked so familiar, she also wore similar albeit even more unusual clothes than Mrs Morewitt. Her musings were interrupted by uncle Charles, who stood by the doorway and called for her to join them in the drawing room. "What? He invited her in?" she wondered.

* * *

One more feathered courier strived to perform what would be a very difficult task, if the initial reaction and following dismissal of the original messages was any indication. It pulled yet another sealed parchment envelope through the doorplate and joined its four kindred avians by the smooth, pristine yard fence.

"Oh, bother," Harry said while watching over his shoulder to make sure neither Dudley nor any of his uncles were nearby, he quickly picked the fifth green ink addressed letter of the day and brought it inside his cupboard under the stairs. He was hiding there of his own freewill and desire, because if sharing a true breakfast with his uncles was a shock, being dismissed from any house chores for the day almost made him cataleptic.

"And where are these letters coming from?" he asked a long-legged spider that was repairing a web by the corner, "It can't be real, this must be a dream," Harry repeated while keeping an attentive ear for the doorplate, and hoping the little girl from his dreams would soon come to bring him back to reality. A female did come to drag him out of the cupboard, but not the one he was wishing for.

"Out!" aunt Petunia shouted, "Gather everything you want to take away with you!"

Harry paled immediately, fearing he was being sent to an orphanage as he had been threatened with all the time. He tried to remain calm and picked his sheet music books, a small box filled with pencil stubs and, despite hesitating at first, the five strange envelopes which he hid between some loose music scores he had been writing and his few Dudley-sized clothes.

"Has the world gone mad?" Harry thought while standing in the middle of his new bedroom. _His_ new room, formerly known as Dudley's second room, with a _real_ bed and a _real_ window! Uncle Vernon had called Grunnings and decided to skip a day's work, woke Dudley up and together with aunt Petunia cleared the discarded, repeated, broken or simply never desired toys, electronic equipment and other things belonging to his cousin within the hour, despite the same cousin's fake tears, serious screams and childish tantrums. It was almost ten in the morning and Harry had yet to be called either worthless or freak. Yes, the world had gone mad.

Still dazed, he jumped on his feet when a bird, a large bird hit the closed window. "Poor thing must've been disoriented," he thought and ran to push the window open and check on it. The animal he now identified as an owl was shaking its head while sprawled over a large shrub, it rustled its feathers and took flight again, aiming for the same window but luckily finding it fully ajar.

Harry ducked and then waved both his arms, trying to shoo the owl before anyone noticed it, but the bird swirled in the air and dived at him, throwing a now recognizable yellow envelope on his face. Apparently satisfied with the delivery, the white-faced owl flew away leaving Harry on the floor to straighten his askew spectacles and wonder if he had better close window, curtains _and_ shutters, lest a whole flock of birds delivering thick envelopes invaded his new bedroom! This was becoming a very weird day indeed.

* * *

"Hermione, bring the letter with you, if you please?" uncle Charles asked.

She entered the parlour to find the older woman browsing the tall oak bookcases, she scoffed upon some titles, then paused briefly over others as if committing them to memory. Pulling The Nature of Space and Time by Hawking and Penrose, she flipped through it and sighed; only Hermione heard her whisper "soon, very soon" before returning the book to its place.

"Mrs McGonagall, this is Hermione Granger, my niece."

Hermione watched the lady turn and bend to greet her, surprised at the recognition look in her eyes. "Yes, indeed she is," Mrs McGonagall said, before extending her hand.

"Did you send me this letter, Mrs McGonagall?"

"One such letter has been sent to every witch and wizard turning eleven years old by the thirty first of August this year."

The room fell silent as the words were absorbed by children and adults. Aunt Claire was the first to interject, rather agitated, "You must be joking! Witches and wizards?"

"Quite certainly," Mrs McGonagall answered, as if used to such reactions, "and this letter is an invitation to attend the finest school of magic in the world, if you can excuse my favouritism, since I am the Deputy Headmistress."

"Magic?" Hermione whispered.

"Yes, magic, Ms Granger. May I ask whether you have witnessed, shall we say, _unusual_ events happening around your niece?" she asked aunt Claire.

All four heads bobbed up and down in unison, lips tightly pressed. Mrs McGonagall motioned for them to seat and began to explain, as she always did in these situations, that magic was a real part of the world around them, and that certain people were gifted with it and lived hidden from the wider part of society.

Hermione noticed aunt Claire looking at her, the fear in her eyes clearly visible as she asked, "Is t-this magic, or whatever this is, d-dangerous?"

"Is your modern technology not dangerous?" the older woman, witch rather, asked in return.

"Technology? Not by itself, only if misused..."

"Exactly! Magic simply _is_, until people like myself or Ms Hermione Granger use it for a purpose, it is _then_ that magic can be dangerous, or helpful, or simply entertaining."

"Forgive my bluntness, Mrs McGonagall," Charles Granger spoke using his most professional solicitor voice, "but how, may we ask, can you expect us to concede that first, strange events might be caused by my niece, which we are certainly not confirming, and that such magic exists?"

"Oh! Oh! Hold on!" Bernadette yelled, before rushing up the stairs, visibly annoying both her parents. She returned in less than a minute, panting and holding a dusty children's book on her hand.

Hermione looked at the book and gasped, she pushed herself even further against the wall and stared at the floor. Bernadette hesitated, looking at her mother before handing the book to the strange lady, with a trembling hand. Mrs McGonagall raised her eyebrows in question, before receiving an answer from Bernadette herself.

"My cousin, she... She was about five, a-and we were playing in our room, mum had brought us these books as gifts and Hermione was so happy with it... Until t-these b-birds came, I dunno, alive?" she finished lamely, Hermione could tell her cousin was feeling uncomfortable from the memory of that day, and from trying to accept something impossible had actually happened.

Holding the dusty children's pop-up book by her fingertips, Mrs McGonagall retrieved the same wooden stick she had used to poke the wind-chimes before and somehow wiped it absolutely clean, where had all the dust gone to, Hermione couldn't fathom. Her surprise would double as the book hung on the air _by itself_ and flipped the first pages without anyone actually touching it! Mrs McGonagall reached the page where an illustration of a pair of songbirds popped-up from the page in a clever three-dimensional reproduction, and looked briefly at Hermione for confirmation.

"Yes madam, that's the one... I'd not seen that book ever since..." Hermione answered.

Mrs McGonagall waved her baton, for lack of a better word, and soon enough the cardboard birds began to move and chirp in their illustrated tree branch. If a hovering book wasn't enough to bring a reaction out of Mr and Mrs Granger, chirping and flapping pop-up birds were.

"Oh. My. Goodness." aunt Claire managed to stutter.

"Actually, Mrs McGonagall, they were like, real birds flying around my room? I sort of panicked and hid under my bed that day..." Bernadette commented, earning a glare from her father.

"Real songbirds? And you were _five_ years of age as these little birds flew around your bedroom?" Mrs McGonagall asked her newest would-be student, producing a feeble smile with her thin lips, "Like these?"

The witch moved her hand and waved her wooden stick in a complicated fashion, she muttered something under her breath and the faux-songbirds took flight from their stationary place, this time as real, feathered birds, a deep red cardinal and a plump brown sparrow that fluttered around the ceiling before resting on top of a bookcase and the chandelier.

Hermione was transfixed by the winged animals and only turned her attention back to her relatives once the birds perched themselves back on their cardboard branch in the book, resuming their original positions and fusing back into it. She looked at her uncle and noticed something she had not seen before for as long as she remembered, except once from a little boy with messy hair and jade coloured eyes behind thick glass in the British Library: Acceptance.

* * *

Inside a darkened bedroom, a young boy stared at a neatly organized series of envelopes. Five were placed on the left of his new bed, arranged in two rows, three of the letters on top and two below. On the other side of the bed Harry placed the latest, more dangerous one. It was delivered by owl feet instead of by human hands, and the afore mentioned bird species had slapped him on the face with it and almost knocked his eyeglasses away; he sighed remembering how difficult it was to tape them the last time they broke, and didn't need any further damage done to them.

He read the addresses again, the first ones to a Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, could only be for Harry himself, but the odd thing was that the sixth letter, the one he had been attacked with, was addressed to Mr H. Potter, Smallest Bedroom on the Second Floor! Someone was watching him, probably inside the very house! Harry was used to hiding and dodging his aunt Marge's bulldogs, uncle Vernon himself in his foul mood days, Duddleykins and his gang, and aunt Petunia's sharp scissors when she had enough of his long hair, and it had given him extensive knowledge of every space in the house, as well as the ability to walk around silently without drawing anyone's attention.

The first floor was clear, he had found Dudley nurturing his intellect by drooling in front of the telly and moved stealthily towards the kitchen, in order to check the pantry and the utility rooms. He even pried the icebox open, just in case. The dining room was empty as well, the chipwood table fashioned to resemble solid oak with its fake plastic texture devoid of a single dust particle, or feather, and the chairs were still perfectly aligned as was aunt Petunia's liking.

Moving to the drawing room, Harry found both his uncles looking out the window, "There, do you see that? Six of them ruddy birds!" uncle Vernon said before sending Petunia outside to shoo the birds. He covered his mouth with both hands and snickered, thinking of what the owls might do to his aunt, and sure enough a minute later a very dishevelled, feathered and bitten Petunia came back inside yelling about "filthy animals".

He moved his search upstairs, bypassing his new bedroom and peeking inside Dudley's chaotic sleeping quarters. Tiptoeing over innumerable toys and things, he reached for the closet and, in a swift controlled motion, pulled the door to find wrinkled clothes littered with comic books, candy bar wrappers, unopened candy and half-eaten candy; odd toys and mutilated stuffed animals were mixed with Dudders' undergarments and a pair of trembling pointy ears were peeking out of a large box of socks. "I wonder how many of those comics are stolen..." he whispered, before closing the door.

Harry heard a muffled crack and then heavy tapping coming from the window, he ran as quietly as possible to peek out of his cousin's glass pane and made the same mistake twice: he pushed it open.

No sooner had he allowed enough space, three slick and extremely fast hawk-owls dove through, barely an inch behind each other, zooming out of the room, pulling a figure of eight to the left and barrelling downstairs.

"_Ah!_ Vernon, _help!_"

"Owls! Ruddy owls _inside_ my house?"

"Mum, there's a bird on my telly!"

"Don't worry Dudders, mum's coming for you!"

Running downstairs and hiding in the dining room, Harry poked his head out the door and witnessed uncle Vernon speeding by with a golf club in his hand, waving it at the birds of prey.

Crash!

"My telly!" Dudley cried.

Crash!

"Vernon, my china! No, not the Queen's Anniversary Plate!"

Crash!

The avian trio flew back to the drawing room in wing formation, followed by a golf-club-armed Vernon whose temple vein was about to burst, and cut to the right in a sharp forty five degree angle. Uncle Vernon's inherently huge inertia made him continue forward in a straight line, toppling over the coffee table and smashing a large Ming Dynasty replica vase; aunt Petunia could be heard sobbing in the corridor, mourning her precious china.

Harry chanced a step out of his hiding place, he was looking upstairs, believing the owls had found their way outside, when three consecutive hard thumps on the back of his head made him shout and lose his round-framed spectacles. "Not again," he complained, squinting his eyes and quickly picking and stuffing the three thick envelopes inside his pockets.

"Boy!" his uncle asked between deep breaths, "Did you... Let those... Ruddy owls... Inside?"

"Er..."

"I give you... Free... Food and... New bedroom... For this?"

"I'm sorry, I just opened the window," Harry defended himself.

"Sorry? _Sorry?_ I've told you... No funny business!" Vernon sputtered straight to his face, "Owls are funny business! Now get rid of them you freak!"

Now that the hawk-owls had delivered their messages they were likely already outside, Harry concluded after running upstairs and throwing the new letters next to the other ones. At the very least something was back to normal, his relatives still hated him and he continued to be known as the freak.

* * *

Charles Granger was a gifted man when it came to words, yet he remained speechless after witnessing the impossible become possible, fear becoming understanding, and his heart sank upon the painful realization he was faced with. He looked at his niece Hermione with tears in his eyes and moved to kneel before her. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry for being frightened, f-for being a fool..." They hugged each other in silence, seeking and giving forgiveness for falling apart, for wasting so much time.

"Sooo... She's not possessed or something like that?"

"Bernadette! Where are your manners!" Claire chided.

"Goodness, no! Your younger cousin was born with magic inside her, that's the only difference between her and you," the witch that had come to their home then closed the book and set it aside, looking at the heartfelt embrace between uncle and niece beside her, "this year alone we are expecting around forty new students from all over Great Britain."

"Oh! Oh! Can you teach me magic too? Can you make dandelions rain like my dorky... I mean witch cousin did? And the butterflies move in the kitchen curt--"

"Bernadette that's enough! I'm so sorry Mrs McGonagall, my daughter can be quite, er..."

"Chipper and nosy?" proposed Hermione, looking up from her uncle's shoulder where she had been silently crying.

"Enthusiastic and inquisitive would be a good choice of words, Ms Granger," her soon to be Deputy Headmistress interjected, "and I'm afraid, Ms Bernadette Granger, that one cannot learn magic itself when one's a Muggle, as in a non-magical person?"

"But how can this be? My brother never had any of these abilities you've just demonstrated." Aunt Claire added she had never heard of Jane, Hermione's mother, doing anything remarkably frightening as this; she immediately corrected herself to say "anything remarkably _interesting_, that is."

"Magic can be peculiar in many ways. Muggle-born wizards are not uncommon, in fact I have a few more visits to fulfil today, explaining our world to other confused families."

"The letter says I should reply within the week, and visit Diagon Alley?" Hermione asked.

"I think you may find someone to--" Mrs McGonagall was interrupted by another owl, smaller than the one that delivered Hermione's Hogwarts letter, brown as well with large reddish-brown irises and a very small beak. It glided graciously and landed softly on the coffee table, extending its leg at Hermione.

She removed the rolled parchment and read out loud, "Dearest Hermione, my good friend Minerva can bring me to visit you and your family if you wish, so that we can further discuss your magic, and all it entails. Miranda Morewitt," Hermione looked at her future Deputy Headmistress and asked, "Is she a witch too?"

"Yes, indeed. I would like your permission to apparate from inside your home, it's a very rude thing to do in a wizard household but I cannot perform apparition outside in a Muggle neighbourhood."

The lack of responses and blank faces in front of Mrs McGonagall reminded her of the lack of wizard vocabulary the Granger family suffered from. "I will vanish and reappear a few moments later with Miranda, if you allow me?" she rephrased, obtaining a series of unsynchronized nods in reply.

Pop!

The space previously occupied by the strangely dressed witch, or perhaps _appropriately_ dressed witch, Hermione considered, was now as empty as if she had never been there at all.

"Oh. My. Goodness."

"Where did she--"

Crack!

Four Grangers jumped on their feet when two women appeared out of thin air in their drawing room. Hermione smiled at Mrs Morewitt and she replied in kind.

"_Cool!_ Hermy can you do that? C'mon, do it please?" Bernadette pleaded while holding Hermione's hand with both of hers. The younger Granger cousin looked down at their joined hands and gasped; she could hardly remember an instance where they had touched, even accidentally in a cramped space or when meeting on the stairs going up and down.

"I'm afraid she's not going to be able to apparate until she comes of age, at seventeen," Mrs Morewitt said, before greeting aunt Claire and being introduced to uncle Charles and Bernadette.

"When did you know, Mrs Morewitt?" Hermione asked after the formal introductions.

"You saw two Hogwarts professors through the door leading to what you would call the back-room of The Earmarked Parlour," Mrs Morewitt explained.

"But there's no back-room there," aunt Claire said, clearly remembering her visit from when she allowed her niece to spend the summer helping in the bookshop.

"That particular door has a Muggle-repealing charm on it, cast by professor Flitwick himself," Miranda and Minerva shared a look and a smile at that, "and only a wizard could have seen it."

"I knew you looked familiar to me, Mrs McGonagall, I mean Deputy Headmistress!"

The older witch nodded then and excused herself, expecting a reply soon and leaving by way of the front door this time, to visit the Finch-Fletchley family whose son had just opened and read his invitation to Hogwarts.

"Do witches have lunch at noon, Mrs Morewitt?"

* * *

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read out loud, and then read the full contents again, scanning the pages for a third time. Harry fought a massive headache, a will to tear the prank letters apart and a burning desire that this could be proof that real magic exists; he was overjoyed and depressed. His uncles would never, absolutely never ever believe he has been invited to attend a school that teaches magic, and he was absolutely devastated and angry at himself for believing stupid words in odd looking letters, even if they were delivered by owl feet instead of by human hands, and yet every single cell, bone, organ, thought, breath and heartbeat in him screamed "I believe and this is who I am!"

Harry had opened a second, then a third envelope before tearing the other six to see if they all bore the same contents. They were all identical, down to the supplied list of necessary materials and the need for a reply within a week, signed by Harry's legal guardian.

Flashes of magical events travelled around his overloaded mind, a bone-crushing case bouncing on a translucent shield of sorts, ink and graphite vanishing from written notebooks, Harry himself popping from the ground to the roof in the blink of an eye. He was magic, not only could he tap into the magic within music, he had been doing real magic for years!

As lunch time drew nearer, a sudden loud bang followed by a deep thump, hurried footsteps and screams prompted Harry to investigate. Hopefully it wasn't yet another flock of owls, he had already opened the letters after all. He peeked over the stair balustrade and had to look twice before actually understanding what he saw. The front door was tumbled on the floor, its very hinges had come clean off the door frame, and the single biggest man he had ever seen in his life was mumbling a series of apologies while trying to fit through the door-less entrance.

"Who're you and what are you doing in _my_ house?" uncle Vernon demanded to know.

"Terribly sorry 'bout yer door ma'am, name's Rubeus Hagrid. I'm 'ere ter talk ter Harry?" the huge bearded man boomed, making Dudley cower behind aunt Petunia, who was herself cowering behind Vernon.

"Y-You need to talk with me, Mr Hagrid?" Harry said, making his presence known.

"Harry! Ain't yeh a big boy now! Yeh've finally read 'em letters, I'd think I was gunna have ter send yeh a hundred o' them, an' maybe rescue yeh from some abandoned lighthouse sumwhere 'cause yeh kept hiding!" he added with a chuckle.

"Letters? You've received _letters_?" aunt Petunia shouted.

"Too right, Harry's going ter Hogwarts to learn magic just like his mum an' dad, bless 'em they'd be proud o' yeh..."

"Mr Hagrid, are you saying you knew my parents?" Harry asked the oversized man while walking down the stairs.

"Call me Hagrid, Harry, yeh sure know 'bout me an' your parents, don't yeh?"

"Well..." Harry said, he was standing in front of Hagrid and had to bend his neck backwards until it actually hurt in order to see his face. This man was big! "My parents were useless drunkards who died in a car crash, were you there when it happened?"

The enormous man had a pair very dark brown eyes, small for his huge bearded face, and they became practically horizontal slits as he glared aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon. "Useless drunkards? Car crash? Ye've sullied Lily an' James' memory by insulting them an' telling their son they'd died in a Muggle accident!?"

"_Freaks!_ All of you worthless--"

Uncle Vernon didn't manage to continue his tirade, in a striking resemblance to what happened to Dudley a few years ago inside an storage room, a golden blur flew right into his moustached mouth, effectively silencing the red-faced man. Harry stared at the unusually large pink umbrella in Hagrid's hand, though expected for a man of this size since a regular umbrella would barely double as a funny hat for his head, and was sure he had used it to remove the brass doorknob and send it flying into his uncle's open mouth.

"Vernon! Stay calm and breathe!" aunt Petunia said, standing on her toes and patting his head as if comforting a large walrus.

"No Harry, yer mum an' dad died protecting yeh, they fou-- They loved yeh so much..." the oversized stranger then lowered himself to be closer to Harry, "Yer a wizard Harry, and yeh've got magic in yeh just like yer parents. Wunderful people they were, honest loving an' caring people!"

Harry could take no more of this, he ran for the place where he could try to reconcile the last few tumultuous hours of his life, his bedroom. His _former_ bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs. As he was running away, he saw Hagrid tried to follow him but stopped when he pried open the very small door just below the staircase and hid inside.

"Yeh all right, Harry?" the bearded giant asked, "I'm sorry if I scared yeh, I'd thought--"

"You didn't scare me," Harry answered from behind the tiny door, "it's only... I'll be out in a few minutes..."

The world was a lie, this man Hagrid had told him the exact opposite of what his relatives had always been telling him about his mother and father, but how could he be sure this wasn't yet another falsehood? Until that moment Harry had only three certainties in life, the first being that there might be another child like him out there in the world, an equal, a girl who gave him hope and comfort in dreams, that allowed him to believe the day would come when someone arrived to rescue him from the dark and oppressive cupboard. Another, now shattered and torn, was that he had overcome his parents' sins by doing something worthy, by expressing the musical talent he was led to believe he had. The third was that no matter how much his relatives hated him, they had never lied about who he was.

But they did lie, they denied the very existence of magic even when it happened right in their faces! He wanted to lock himself in that cupboard and throw the key away until he died, for the pain of hating his own parents over a lie was too big, but Harry wouldn't give his uncles that satisfaction, absolutely not, because he chose to believe the wonderful tale of magical, loving fathers who had once befriended a closet-sized man named Rubeus Hagrid.

* * *

Having a witch, pointed hat and all, sharing the table for lunch was as foreign for the Grangers as sharing a wildlife hunt with the chief-warrior of a Xhosa tribe, no matter how much fun Hermione's grandparents insisted it was, they would never do it, period. Alas, never say never.

"If I understand this correctly," uncle Charles said after taking another piece of chicken breast, "Hermione needed to express her magic abilities in order to cope with her natural development?"

"Indeed, whenever her emotions would rise beyond normal levels, as in exhilarating happiness or a sudden panic, the magic will flare and be released. It's normal for all young wizards, including babies..."

"And once I get my... Wand is the correct term? I'll be able to control the magic at will?"

Mrs Morewitt nodded and produced her own wand, "Because of the secrecy laws I cannot perform magic here, else Hermione could be charged with under-age magic use, or they could press charges against me for use of magic in front of Muggles."

"But that McGonagall lady did some stuff here!" her cousin said.

"Minerva has a special dispensation for this occasions, no Auror would bother her for it."

"Auror?"

Mrs Morewitt tapped her chin for a second, "Law enforcer, similar to your policeman?"

The table fell silent for a few minutes, until Mrs Morewitt herself spoke again, "Back to the matter at hand, are you Mr and Mrs Granger willing to allow Hermione to attend Hogwarts?"

"What could happen if we do not?" Charles asked and Hermione gasped, "Hypothetically speaking pumpkin, I'm sure your aunt and I already agree on this," he added.

The witch sighed and answered directly at Hermione, "Your magic would continue to develop until a mature level when reaching adulthood. Random events would continue to happen around you if you had a very basic level of magical strength, but from what you have described regarding your accidental magic, yours would be an impossible flame to contain."

"Oh... I think I better reply with my intention to assist Hogwarts School then."

At that very moment the sound of flapping wings distracted them, a large raven glided graciously through the open double french doors leading to the dinning room and landed on Hermione's right shoulder.

"Kettle! I've told you, no flying _inside_ the house!"

Wide open pale-blue eyes denounced Mrs Morewitt's surprise at seeing the large bird. "Is this your familiar?"

"Familiar? I'm not sure of the word's meaning, but Kettle's been living with me in the attic since I was five," Hermione answered, immediately regretting mentioning the attic and hoping she wouldn't make a scandal out of it.

The older witch, however, deserved more credit than that and simply nodded, dismissing that information and explaining she had asked her owl Scriptor to remain nearby and use him to send the reply to Hogwarts. If Hermione didn't know better, she would have been sure Kettle had sniffed at that and was extending his leg, as if asking her to give him the important task.

"I think he wants to be the one to carry my reply!"

"Quite right you are... Darling, you're full of surprises," Mrs Morewitt said after fighting her initial stupor. She then picked a sheet of parchment, a feather quill and ink bottle from inside her robe, handing everything to Hermione.

"Quills?"

"Wizards have used quills for thousands of years, it would require a very dramatic change in the wizarding world for us to use a Muggle pen."

Hermione wrote a very polite affirmative reply, huffed a little while fighting the ink blotches her inexperience with quills left on the parchment, and then rolled it together with her uncle Charles' signed form. She remembered the twine she had saved from Mrs Morewitt's birthday presents and used a string of it to tie them to Kettle's foot. "Could you please deliver this to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, at Hogwarts School?"

The large raven nodded and took flight under the amazed gaze of his human companion as she ran to open the windows for him. Hermione turned to her uncles and asked them if they were willing to visit this place called Diagon Alley with her; she didn't even have to ask Bernadette, it was like asking whether there is water in the oceans, a simple and resounding yes.

So it was that the spacious second row seats in uncle Charles' Silver Spur sedan were occupied by an excited witch wearing a pointed hat sitting next to two young girls, whilst Claire busied herself chiding her daughter about proper behaviour and Charles himself concentrated in driving them all safely to The Earmarked Parlour.

* * *

Aptly described as a tense meeting of warring parties, the gathering currently held in the antiseptic kitchen of the Dursley home slowly deteriorated by means of grunts, growls and deep, nostril flaring breaths. Harry had exited the cupboard to find the kitchen table being used as a bench by Hagrid, who was entranced in a staring contest against uncle Vernon, who sat in front of him. He still had a brass doorknob stuck in his mouth. Aunt Petunia kept glaring at the giant while mopping and wiping the two-feet-long footprints he had left on the tiled floor, and Dudley could be found stuffing his mouth with cold pizza slices right out of the icebox, with his round bottom sticking out.

"My parents names, James and...?"

"Lily," Hagrid answered and Harry noticed his aunt gasping and tightening the grip on the plastic handle of the mop she was using, "I can't believe yeh didn't even tell Harry his mother's name! Shame on yeh, Petunia!"

Another tense string of minutes passed as Harry sat on one the kitchen chairs, looking down at his clenched hands. He rummaged inside his large handed-down trousers and produced one of the letters those persistent owls had delivered.

"Did they go to this school called Hogwarts?" he asked after reading the letter one more time, choosing to ignore aunt Petunia's shriek and head shaking.

Hagrid nodded and asked for it, "Letter ain't changed a bit since my time, it ain't."

Soon Harry noticed his uncle trying to scream, he was waving his bulky arms around unsuccessfully reaching for someone's attention, but he stopped when Harry stood up and positioned himself in front of him. "You made me hate them. I hated them for leaving me alone, I hated them for learning to drive a car, and I hated them for being worthless people... But I was hating a lie, wasn't I? My mum, Lily, I bet she'd be ashamed of me..."

"Don't you dare mention my s-sister, boy! She was a _freak_ like you!"

Harry turned to face his aunt, she was still holding the mop and trying to push Dudley away from the open icebox to clean the crumbs and food debris the whale calf left on the floor. "Why aunt Petunia? Because she could do magic?"

"There's no such thing as--"

"Magic!" Harry repeated, and his aunt jumped on her feet. Dudley finally emptied the edible contents of the icebox and walked away, mourning the destroyed telly in the kitchen and seating himself in front of the other television set in the drawing room. For his part, uncle Vernon looked livid, his purple face compensating for the lack of speech and clearly expressing his ultimate annoyance.

"Magic, magic, magic, magic, _magic!_" he yelled while running and jumping around like a kangaroo on a sugar rush, making his formerly huge uncle fall off his chair. The once large man who now looked like an overweight garden gnome next to Hagrid scrunched his eyes and glared at him, while Petunia ran to comfort her Duddleykins, who simply pushed her away to the floor and returned to his most interesting televised show.

"Harry come 'ere," Hagrid said while holding him by the top of his messy-haired head, "it's past lunch time an' yeh'd better not eat what they feed that poor boy there, I'll show yeh what a proper wizard's meal is!" the gigantic man added, standing up to his full height and patting the small child on the back, unwillingly thrusting him forward a few yards.

The enormous man needed to have an appropriately sized means of transportation of course, but Harry was doubly surprised when he saw the black motorcycle parked by the end of the lane. He knew this massive mechanical machine, he had dreamt of it and when Hagrid used his foot to bring the engine to life, he was absolutely certain of it. Harry's musical training so far had the intriguing side-effect of sharply increasing his hearing abilities, not that he could hear better than others, he could hear and discriminate more within the sounds around him.

"I know this bike, I-I've dreamt of it, no I actually _remember_ it and the rumble a-and _flying_ with... Flying with you!" he bent his neck up to look at the big man and found him looking back with a sad look in his rough, bearded face.

"Ow, Harry! I knew yeh'd remember yer old friend Hagrid, though yeh were wee small an' all..." the enormous man picked an equally large handkerchief and blew his nose, apologizing between sobs, "Yeh look so much like yer dad, same hair an' face, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes..."

"Really? Can you tell me about them? Does the bike really fly? D'you know if I've got any other relatives? How can I do magic? Where are we going now? What's--"

"Yeh've got lotta questions, Harry!" he laughed and then added, "I'm sorry yer aunt's like that, she'd never accept yer mum fer who she was, an' she'd better be ashamed fer never telling yeh the truth!"

Hagrid forced a large pink helmet on top of his tiny head and pulled him over with one giant hand to sit in the side-car before sprinting away. The open-face helmet obscured half his vision and pushed Harry's eyeglasses down his nose, but he didn't mind the uncomfortable accessory nor its ghastly colour as long as he got a chance to know the truth he had chosen to believe about his parents, and ultimately about himself. Besides, a "proper wizard's meal" sounded like a delicious and tempting offer after a summer of food scraps and one unexpected breakfast this morning.

* * *

"See? I told you Charlie, there's no back-room in this... This quaint bookshop!"

"It's right there, aunt Claire!" Hermione pointed, and then dragged her uncle through it again. The moment they crossed Charles began looking around, completely confused.

"How... How did I get here?"

"We walked through the door!" she answered, now completely exasperated at the ridiculous situation, for as soon as she pulled one Muggle through, he or she would forget how they had arrived on the other side, and start demanding to know where the others were!

Mrs Morewitt had excused herself for a minute and crossed the wizard visible doorway first to arrange some undisclosed business, leaving Hermione to deal with her baffled relatives. She decided best to have everyone hold hands and literally pushed them over using her small but strong body.

"Hey! How'd we get here?" Bernadette asked, and Hermione slapped her forehead one more time, before rounding the table where she had once seen a pair of witches having tea and finding, well, the very same bookshop. She had imagined a big magical shop as large as Kyles, the Muggle bookshop her aunt managed, but here she was facing an exact replica of the narrow space The Earmarked Parlour offered on the other side.

The bookcases and couches were set in different arrangements however, but it was when she began to scan the titles that the fact they were in a magical bookshop really hit her. Hermione was about to pull a book called "Geese to Gargoyle Transfigurations that give you Goosebumps" when Mrs Morewitt returned.

"Welcome to The Earmarked Parlour," she said, waving her arms around, "you may find many second-hand titles, unpublished manuscripts and overstocked editions like these," she pointed to a gaily decorated book cover bearing the title "Remarkable Rhododendrons, Roots and Ramblings".

"Why does it have the same name?"

"Why not? It _is_ the same shop, only the books are different," Mrs Morewitt answered with a wink. She invited the Granger family to seat themselves on the couches and, now free to use her magic, levitated a tea tray to them, followed by four folded pastel coloured fabric bundles.

"I have taken the liberty to bring these cloaks for you to wear, they were... They'll allow you to be, how can I phrase this, less conspicuous? Wearing part of a proper wizard attire can help you avoid the more discriminatory aspects of our society," she added with a sad look, before quickly wiping it from her face, "and it can turn a dismissive clerk into an attentive employee!"

The group donned the unfamiliar garments, with a little help from Hermione's witch friend, and marvelling at the comfortably low temperature delivered by the cloaks' cooling charms followed her out the glass panelled door into Diagon Alley itself. The high two o'clock sun cast shapely shadows beneath brightly coloured shop awnings, centuries old sprawling trees and under overhead walkways richly decorated with intricate designs. A wide cobblestone pathway weaved between the stone cornered buildings, allowing the witches and wizards to browse, purchase and barter this and that, or simply to rest on an ornate bench below a gracious tree for idle chatter among friends and family.

Reaching a wide, beautiful water fountain whose centrepiece depicted a bearded man holding a staff in his left hand and proudly galloping on an unicorn, _truly_ galloping since the life-size pair was actually prancing around the fountain itself and splashing water on nearby distracted wizards, they circled the fountain, escaped a water jet and filed towards a large building dominating one part of the alley whose faade was heavily guarded by blinding white crooked columns.

Bernadette pointed to the air, drawing Hermione's attention to the owl filled skies, of all colours and sizes, some even carrying large packages. She nodded and noticed that the closer they were to the glistening building, the larger amount of little people there were among the regular size wizards. As she was about to ask Mrs Morewitt about them, one small little man exited the bronze doors beneath the sign reading Gringotts and descended the white steps as they climbed up.

They were definitely not human, the being was looking around and Hermione caught his eyes for a second. Being the polite girl, or witch, that she was Hermione greeted it with a "good afternoon, sir," eliciting a gasp and a subsequent pointy-toothed grin from the strange creature. It stood still for a few seconds and she felt as if under a microscope while the being analysed her from head to toe.

"Come now, pumpkin, Mrs Morewitt says the goblins can exchange our Pounds for gold inside the bank," uncle Charles said before pulling her through the tarnished doors.

Dozens of goblins could be seen behind counters, some weighing gemstones and gold, others dealing coins and stuffing full piles of them inside a pouch the size of a tea-bag! A few goblins, probably higher level employees given their older faces and larger tables, sat on tall stools tending to some business or another with wizards wearing all sorts of different coloured hats. They approached one goblin while he looked for flaws inside the largest cut diamond any of the Grangers had ever seen or heard about in their lives.

"We'll exchange Muggle Pounds for Galleons," Mrs Morewitt told the goblin in a brisk voice, and the goblin put the gem aside, snapped his fingers and a thick, leather-bound book appeared floating in front of him. He opened it and found the page corresponding to today's date, using a long finger sporting an even longer fingernail to scan the columns until reaching the one marked as "XIV:XXIII g.u.t.k. - XIV:XXXIV g.u.k.t." and asking how many Pounds would be exchanged.

"I'll be paying the Hogwarts tuition fees using my account, uncle Charles," Hermione said before her uncle could reply to the goblin's question.

"Absolutely not, pumpkin, we'll take care of your education needs until--"

"You weren't expecting to pay for _this_ type of education, therefore I'll be the one to fund it!"

Uncle and niece stared unblinking at each other; her cousin Bernadette and aunt Claire were already used to this situations, it was the same every time they had to purchase start of term materials for school, even buying clothes with Hermione was a battle of wills. They pulled Mrs Morewitt away and used to time to continue asking questions regarding everything they had seen so far.

"I'm your legal guardian, therefore it's _my_ responsibility to care for _your_ needs!"

"_Fine!_ Then I'll just return all you've paid for my schooling since I was too young to protest, and I'll give it back plus interests! Six years of _inflated_ interest rates!"

The goblin almost fainted, were it not for holding to the heavy diamond on the table he would have fallen backwards on the bank floor. Another hairy goblin carrying a taller-than-him pile of folders was eavesdropping and dropped the pile to the ground, climbing to the top in order to have a better view of the discussion.

"Sometimes you're as stubborn as your mother was, Hermione! Don't you want to pay me back rental and boarding as well?" he asked sarcastically.

"That's right! And I'll throw in all the money the Foundation's been depositing in my account for whatever little work I do! _I'd do it for free anyway!_"

That last statement was too much for the poor goblin to handle, he collapsed on the table head first and then landed on the cold marble with a thump while the hairy goblin stared at Hermione as if she had sprouted a second head. She startled and looked around the counter to see the fallen being and bent down to poke him.

"Sir? Are you all right?" she asked out of concern, while uncle Charles looked over the counter.

"Gantfreck Nose-picker, provide service!" a commanding albeit shrilly voice came from an elegantly dressed goblin behind them, who upon seeing Gantfreck unconscious said, "We apologize for this goblin's failure, please allow Griphook to finish your business and compensate accordingly."

"That won't be necessary, mister...?"

"Ragnok," the smartly dressed goblin answered.

"Thank you Mr Ragnok, but I'll wait for Mr Gantfreck to recover himself and continue my exchange with him, if that's agreeable to you," Hermione stated, "and this way the bank needs not compensate for any lack of service. In fact, I'd pay a reasonable fee for my Galleons to be delivered in a carrying pouch like that one?" she finished by pointing to the tiny bags that could hold heaps of coins inside.

A couple of goblins were whispering around them, she managed to hear references to "a witch calling him by name", and another comment regarding her "fair business practices" before the one named Ragnok glared and silenced them. Gantfreck Nose-picker stirred and with agility beyond that expected of a goblin, although Hermione couldn't be quite sure if goblins were supposed to be agile or not, stood up and offered his apologies.

"No apology required, Mr Gantfreck, I believe my uncle and I _can_ reach an agreement?"

Charles sighed and rolled his eyes while she nervously bit her lip, "Fine, I'll let _you_ purchase all your required materials and books, even your wand," he said and she squealed with joy, "_but only that!_"

"Thanks uncle Charles!"

Hermione took the chance to hug her uncle again. It felt good to be accepted.

* * *

"This, is a dragon steak Harry, yeh'd never find a better steak than Tom's," Hagrid boomed with a ravenous look in his eyes.

Harry however, was having a little bit of a twisted stomach problem with the green and smelly piece of dragon meat. Yes, _dragon meat_! A piece of flesh from a dragon, ordered to Hagrid's taste, meaning body-temperature-warm, raw and bloody.

They had arrived in London in well under a quarter of an hour, the flying motorcycle Hagrid had explained was invisible to Muggles made the journey effortlessly and he enjoyed every second of it. After leaving the machine in an alley, they had walked to Charing Cross Road and Harry began to scratch his leg and lower back a little while Hagrid escorted him inside a place called The Leaky Cauldron, where he was promptly introduced to Tom the bartender and, upon learning of Harry Potter in their midst, to a couple dozen witches and wizards before his huge new friend ordered two "special dragon ones" and guided him to a booth.

"How come they all know me?" Harry asked, "And what'd they mean by the-boy-who-lived?"

Although reluctant at first, Hagrid finally answered, "Yeh're the boy who lived when yer parents didn't, Harry..."

He nodded and, while pushing the escaping side dish back into his plate, asked the inevitable follow-up question, "H-How did they d-die?"

"Yeh aren't eatin' yer steak, Harry, it's gonna get cold an' th--"

"How did it happen, Mr Hagrid?" he repeated.

"It's Hagrid, yeh can call me Hag--"

"_How'd they die?_"

Harry didn't regret the yelling. He didn't regret the look of sadness in the large man's face. He didn't regret the pointing and whispering around them. Harry wanted answers, truths, a cornerstone upon which to build his new life as a wizard.

"A very bad wizard murdered them, he... He came to yer home an'--"

"Did they like me?" Harry asked, interrupting the explanation and scratching his lower back again. There would be time to know more details, but not now, not just yet.

"Yer mum an' dad loved yeh Harry! They loved yeh more than anythin'!"

Harry graced his lips with a smile, and then changed the subject to another grim question that was bothering him, "What if I can't go to Hogwarts, I've got no money to pay for--"

"Yer dad's left yeh gold fer school, don't yeh worry 'bout it," Hagrid answered with a wave of his hand, before gulping the last of his greenish steak.

"But my uncles, they'll _never_ allow me to go!" he said, already making secret plans to escape his relatives house somehow.

"That's why Dumbledore asked me ter come an' fetch yeh, great man Dumbledore!" the bearded man stated, "Dumbledore's the Headmaster at Hogwarts, he is."

"But--"

"I've got yer key to Gringotts an' we'd better buy yeh a wand right now," Hagrid interrupted, eyeing the untouched steak with a heartbreaking longing. Harry noticed it and asked him if he wanted to have it, since he had a full breakfast at home and wasn't hungry. His new big friend didn't need to know that raw green meat was _not_ very appetizing for him.

Finishing his butterbeer at the same time as Hagrid swallowed his moving side dish, which Harry didn't need to know what it was exactly, they stood and walked to the end of the dingy building, reached a brick wall and he looked up questioningly. Hagrid used his big pink umbrella to tap a few of the bricks and, with a rasping sound, they began to recede and form a wide and tall archway for them to cross.

"Welcome ter Diagon Alley!" he said with a chuckle, noticing Harry's awestruck face.

The alley before him was a row of ancient looking buildings adorned with colourful awnings, expertly crafted signs and people coming and going, _levitating_ their purchases next to them or _popping in and out of thin air!_ Harry looked up to see more owls similar to the ones that had attacked him and ducked, fearing they would deliver heavier packages this time. All around him witches and wizards wearing colourful clothing and pointed hats walked and talked about whatever was their fancy.

He approached a wall plastered with posters, the images on them actually moved of their own accord! He saw an offer for joining an expedition to find the crumple-horned snorkack, whatever that was, then an official looking poster regarding new regulations for the proper use of keys for making portkeys bluntly covered by another highly decorated one of a smiling blonde man with perfect teeth announcing his latest book, "Holidays with Hags".

Pulled by Hagrid towards a large towering white building, Harry barely had the time to register or understand things, everything was new or twisted in some way, there was a whole _world_ he had been denied! He had even forgotten about the itching until it spread to his left arm, and then forced his small legs to keep up with Hagrid's long strides, resting a little after entering the building he now recognized as a bank.

The warning written on the silver doors beyond the larger, bronze ones was quite puzzling and certainly threatening enough to discourage any would-be thieves. While Harry stood reading he heard a group of witches walk behind him discussing the exchange rate between Pounds and Galleons, and how sorry one of them was to have made a goblin faint. He only turned his attention away from the writing and the red and gold uniformed goblin standing guard when Hagrid pushed him inside the bank's main hall.

"Come now Harry, let's ask fer sumeone to take yeh ter yer vault," he said and approached an unoccupied goblin.

Harry's emotional roller-coaster was beginning to drag him back into a grim mood, he briefly wondered if the H.J. Granger Foundation could ask these goblins to hunt Mr Harper and Mr Bullion and have them return the stolen money, and then he wondered if his own parents had been murdered for gold, to satisfy greed and envy. Another question burning in his mind was what might have happened to the bad wizard Hagrid had mentioned.

He was jolted out of his reverie when a goblin Hagrid addressed as Griphook jumped down from his stool and led them away through a door on the back. They walked into a fire-lit tunnel, hard rock surrounded them and he could feel the steep angle at which they were descending, to what Hagrid commented that the goblin vaults were thousands of miles below the surface.

Soon they arrived at a station of sorts, were several mining carts waited for passengers to board. The rickety cart creaked under Hagrid's considerable frame and the goblin seemed to hesitate for a second, but boarded and snapped his fingers, putting the wheeled ore cart in motion on the tracks.

If the flying motorcycle was fun, this was _amazing_. Harry held back a loud "whoo-hoo" he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs as the cart twisted and turned, negotiated steep curves and sometimes travelled upside down, until braking suddenly in front of a tall and wide heavy bolted door, with hundreds of latches, wheels and keyholes on it.

"Mr Potter, if you please?" the goblin asked.

"Just Harry, Mr Griphook," he answered, already amazed at how many times he had replied the same thing today. It seemed wizards, and goblins, really respected him for some unfathomable reason.

He stood there, slightly puzzled at the goblin's expression, then Hagrid exclaimed something and pulled a golden key from around his large neck, handing it to Harry. He looked at the goblin in confusion and asked what was he supposed to do with it.

"Most irregular," Griphook grunted, before guiding his hand to the vault door and asking him to insert it at the same time as he inserted a key of his own, made of obsidian. "Turn it left, now hold and turn right twice if you please, Mr Potter."

Harry's itching left arm almost ruined the intended motions but he managed to turn as directed, just before removing the key and scratching heavily until the skin of his arm turned red. He was about to return the key to his new friend but, remembering the goblin words, preferred to ask, "Why would you say it was irregular for Hagrid to give me that gold key, Mr Griphook?"

The goblin looked up at the giant first, then at him and back at Hagrid who suddenly looked quite uncomfortable. "We must abide to the consultations made by our client," Griphook explained, "Mr Potter either you or your legal guardian must be the custodians of the Potter family vault, nobody else should."

"But... But that means Hagrid's my legal guardian then?"

"Guardianship was bestowed upon your nearest kin, Mr Potter. It was uncontested and therefore remains in the person of one Petunia Dorothea Dursley, ne Evans, and her husband Vernon Louis Dursley."

Harry snorted and held a laugh, "_Dorothea?_ That's priceless..." he said, "Does that mean they can come here and remove any amount of, er... What's the name of the wizard currency again?"

"Galleons, Mr Potter, Sickles and Knuts being the lower value coins, and no, only Mrs Dursley can come and prove by key and by blood who she is before accessing the vault contents."

"Blood?"

"The key will not turn if the blood is not recognized, Mr Potter."

"It's Harry, just Ha-- Oh, forget it..."

Hagrid was nervously fidgeting with his moleskin coat, trying to interrupt but Harry had enough bad experience with adults to know nothing is as it seems. He thought about his new-found situation and wondered if there was any way for him to stop his uncles from having access to his school money.

"Why did Hagrid have my key then?"

The goblin looked up and tensed, but as he had explained before, Griphook seemed to be compelled to answer any and every question the legitimate owner of a vault asked, "That particular key was last used while in possession of your father, James Horatio Potter. It had not been seen again until today, Mr Potter, and because Gringotts was unable to locate your person, its whereabouts remained unknown to us."

"Hagrid found me though."

"Indeed, Mr Potter."

This made no sense, why would a wizard be able to find him but not a goblin? And why did they never look for him earlier in life if he was so well-known in this world?

"We'd better go now, Harry, yeh've asked enough haven't yeh?"

Having acquired a few concepts based on the financial news bulletins his uncle used to watch late at night, Harry believed he understood enough to chance a question regarding his assets. He felt proud for using the word "assets" and repeated it twice.

"Of my inherited assets, how many are available to me and how many assets other than Galleons do I have, Mr Griphook?"

"Being an under-age wizard, Mr Potter, you are allowed to remove a limited annual amount of Galleons from this vault. Majority is considered at seventeen, unless special circ--"

"All right Harry, time ter go, we'd better go now!"

"_No!_ I've had enough of people making a fool out of me," Harry replied, "I'm sorry Hagrid, if you'd found me a couple of months ago I'd be obeying you in a heartbeat... But not today..."

Hagrid the giant stood dumbfounded before him, Harry could see the large man's confusion and pain, it seemed he wanted to care and support him but at the same time was bound by some other obligation. He also knew this man could use a simple finger, or his ridiculously pink and frilly magical umbrella to knock him unconscious on the floor and drag him outside, but the fact he had not done so meant the friendship and caring he offered was real.

"Do I get any interests from the rest of my assets?" Harry smiled to himself for using two financial words in one phrase.

"Of course not Mr Potter, that's a Muggle concept of no consequence for magical beings, although we goblins abide by it in Muggle entrepreneurship. You do have investments and participation in several wizard businesses, however."

He though for a few seconds before turning to the goblin again, "Mr Griphook, I want to take all I'm allowed for the year now."

"That's a considerable amount, Mr Potter," Griphook answered with a greedy grin while Hagrid gasped behind him.

"Then give me a third in Pounds, I heard someone talking about an exchange rate before?"

"Harry, please, I'm supposed ter hold to those Galleons meself, an' then buy yer things fer yeh... It's what Dumbledore asked me ter do, yeh see?"

The nervous look in his friend's face made Harry decide to instruct Griphook so that he handed Hagrid enough Galleons to pay for Hogwarts and for the purchases he was asked to do by his future Headmaster. He thanked Griphook again and hung the gold key on his own neck, scratching his lower back, while the goblin looked at him with another piercing gaze, as if he was studying the young boy.

As the cart started moving again towards a vault Hagrid needed to visit, he kept looking at Harry opening and closing his mouth thrice before finally shaking his massive bearded head and saying "Yeh're a fire we can't hold back, ain't yeh Harry? A magic flame nuthin' can contain..."

* * *

"I love magic," Hermione said while holding her tiny pouch full of Galleons.

Uncle Charles and her had approached aunt Claire, Bernadette and Mrs Morewitt by the ornate couches found in the middle of the enormous main hall and explained their agreement. Her cousin teased her for being such a dork, yet she simply shrugged and walked outside explaining the exchange rates between Pounds and Galleons, as well as expressing how sorry she was for unwillingly making the poor creature faint.

As they reached the bank's outer doors she stared in awe at a gigantic man that was walking inside, he was the largest man she had ever seen, even the pictures of people afflicted by gigantism or any degree of acromegaly didn't do justice to this huge bearded figure. Hermione found herself descending the white stairs and focused on avoiding tripping instead, when Mrs Morewitt suggested a visit to Ollivander's first, then they could fetch the rest of the required course books in The Earmarked Parlour. She sensed another difficult discussion coming soon, the older witch had become very fond of her and would try to give her a discount, or worse, present her with the books as a gift!

Ollivander's was a shabby and narrow shop with two panelled leaded glass windows in front and an unremarkable simple door in between, a second and third row of simpler plain glass windows served the rooms above the sign reading Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

"In we go," Mrs Morewitt indicated, "let's find out how many tries it takes for Mr Ollivander to provide you with a suita--"

"Miranda Isis Greymoth, walnut, ten and a half inches, springy, unicorn hair," said an old man with pale silver eyes and a white tuft of hair, "I'm glad to meet you again, Mrs Morewitt," he finished while stepping out of the shadows cast by endless piles of boxes.

"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander, we--"

"You sir, I do not remember ever selling a wand to, and I have been selling them for quite some time, you see?" the old man stated while looking at uncle Charles, "nor do I remember you, milady, or any of the young misses..."

"I'm here for my first wand!" Hermione answered.

The man raised a snow-white eyebrow and looked straight at her, "Your _first_ wand, is it? I sincerely hope carelessness will not be the cause of you needing a second or third wand, young miss...?"

"Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you Mr Ollivander," she answered and extended her hand.

"Please allow me," he said and turned her right hand over, measuring the width of the thumb, before picking an old wooden ruler and holding it by one end while dropping it flat over her hair. He seemed to nod in approval after the ruler bounced thrice. "Only a few more measurements and I can proceed with your older sister," Mr Ollivander explained.

"Oh, I'm not a witch, and she's actually my cousin," said Bernadette who was opening a series of wand boxes and playing with them.

"Very well, now let's try this--"

Tapping on the front windows interrupted him, Hermione turned to see who might be calling for attention instead of opening the door and gasped. Precariously perched on the slim windowsill was her black feathered friend Kettle, tapping the leaded glass behind which a very ancient looking wand rested over a faded purple cushion.

"Kettle!" Hermione excused herself and opened the door to allow the large raven inside, "Come with me, I'm about to purchase my wand!" she told the bird, and Kettle flapped a little to set himself on her shoulder.

"Interesting," mumbled Mr Ollivander, "now try this one, oak, nine inches, dragon heartstring..."

Hermione took it in her hand and looked back at the wandmaker, wondering what was she supposed to do.

"Swish and flick, Hermione," Mrs Morewitt instructed.

She did as told, but the resulting bang and very noticeable burn mark on Mr Ollivander's counter made her turn scarlet red. Kettle had flown away to perch himself by the front of the shop and her relatives had jumped almost three feet on the air.

"I'm sorry! I didn't--"

"No harm done, Ms Granger, this is how it goes," the old man said, "now try this wand, cherry with unicorn hair..."

No scorch marks, no loud bangs. She swished again, but no sparks came out, nothing seemed to have happened. Hermione looked questioningly at Mr Ollivander, who scratched his chin and looked around, finally pointing towards his chandelier on the ceiling, a once simple brass lighting fixture now the size of an ox cart wheel and candles as thick as tree trunks. It creaked ominously and the Grangers plus Mrs Morewitt moved to the sides just in time before the weight brought the enlarged chandelier down.

"Not the right wand either, I guess?"

"I'm sorry..." Hermione said morosely, sidestepping the now shrinking chandelier and returning the cherry wand to its box. She noticed Kettle cawing and intently eyeing the displayed wand by the window-shop, and fearing he was about to pick it she shook her finger negatively at him before calling the raven back to her shoulder.

"Nothing a simple _reparo_ and a new sticking charm cannot fix," the wandmaker yelled from behind a tall cabinet. He came back a minute later holding two new boxes, which Hermione observed cautiously. She picked the one on the right.

"This one feels different, Mr Ollivander."

"Ah... Give it a swish, then."

Golden sparks showered through the air as she swished and flicked, the wand fit her hand quite comfortably, its length, weight and girth seemed to be made exactly for her. Hermione jumped on her feet and looked at a satisfied Mr Ollivander, who approved of the match and charged her eleven Galleons and seven Sickles in total, including a safety wooden box that only opened upon her touch and password, and a wand maintenance kit.

They were shown outside with a bow from the wandmaker and followed Mrs Morewitt to the Magical Menagerie. As soon as they entered the shop, a large cage filled with ordinary sized ravens fell silent and seemed to have bowed their heads. She dismissed it thinking it was just her imagination and Hermione allowed Kettle to choose an enclosure he felt comfortable with. Bernadette commented he was pickier than a girl, and she thoroughly agreed; it was only after getting in and out of half a dozen cages that the raven cawed a happy caw from within a cylindrical cage that consisted of two levels, a side door, several golden perches and a swivelling dome top.

Because of her embarrassing first experience writing with a quill, she insisted in purchasing a calligraphy set and a huge amount of parchment and ink to train her hand. It would also serve to hold her summaries and planning for the coming year, with so many new subjects and a new world she was entering on September the first but had little to no information about, she needed to update her knowledge as quickly as possible.

Cauldrons and potions ingredients were next, both Granger girls gagged at the slimy, nondescript and foul-smelling things in jars and barrels at Slug&Jiggers Apothecary but marvelled at the assortment of cauldron sizes, shapes and materials available in the anonymous cauldron shop.

"Vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core," Hermione repeated dreamily as they walked back to The Earmarked Parlour with all her purchases, including robes, a cauldron and a set of quills.

"Yeah, yeah, we were there too, remember _Hermy_?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, _Berny!_" she replied and stuck her tongue at her cousin.

They continued to bicker with each other until entering the bookshop that would eventually lead them back to the non-magical world, where they accepted yet another cup of tea and removed the comfortable cloaks. Mrs Morewitt allowed Kettle to share her owl's water and then turned to the list of required books for first-year Hogwarts students.

"Now, I've observed enough to know you will never accept these as a gift, therefore I'm going to let you pay for them. _However_, these items do have a twelve Sickle discount each, over the regular Flourish&Blotts prices," the bookshop owner explained before Hermione could protest.

They spent another fifteen minutes together, inquiring this and that about the magical world before saying their goodbyes and, after pushing the Grangers through the door they couldn't see nor remember having crossed, walked to uncle Charles parked sedan. She allowed her raven to fly home and put her purchases in the luggage compartment, before climbing to the comfortable back seat and falling asleep, dreaming of wands, broomsticks and dragons.

* * *

Harry exited the bank whistling Pennies from Heaven, a Muggle tune he had listened to while escaping Dudley on the school kitchen's roof. Someone inside the kitchen had the radio on, tuned to a jazz oriented station and started singing along that particular song, he had liked it and asked the Music teacher Mr Harper to record a tape for him to listen.

As it turned out, Griphook wasn't his goblin vault manager. Baprak the Furious had been the goblin assigned to care for the Potter family vault since his great-grandfather's time, however he had passed away, well the goblins said "fed the hydra's hungry mouths" but he really didn't have the stomach to ask for details.

Griphook had been promoted as soon as he demanded him to be his vault keeper, Hagrid was given twice as many Galleons as he would need to purchase Harry's school materials and he was presented with a silver card holder that would grow to the size of a businessman's briefcase full of Pounds when the correct runes were drawn with his finger on the lid. It took him a couple of minutes to learn the phonetic equivalent of Potter in runes, but he finally memorized it. His remaining Galleons were distributed in three pouches tied together with an snap-resistant rope of goblin weaved _hag_ hair. Again, Harry didn't really care to ask for details.

"What's yeh gonna do with so much Galleons, Harry?" his huge companion asked.

"Nothing," he answered and Hagrid made a confused face, "I mean I'll buy a fitting and comfortable pair of shoes, and real bed covers as well, but that's all since you'll be purchasing my things for school..."

"Why'd yeh say real bed covers?"

Harry winced and regretted mentioning that, but changed the subject to wizard clothing instead. "I'll need wizard clothes too, right?"

"Merlin's beard, I'd forgotten 'bout that... Madam Malkin's that way," the giant said while pulling him along, "and then we'll find yeh yer wand!"

Watching a measuring tape going about his body was hilarious until it slipped inside his oversized pants, at which time Madam Malkin herself had entered the booth to find a half-naked boy wrestling with her charmed seamstress gear. Harry tried to apologize and pull his trousers back up, but the witch laughed heartily and called the measurements enough for creating a fitting attire.

He chose a quality but not fancy fabric, magically woven in Egypt from moonlight harvested gossypium sternutatiae, or simply put the sneezing cotton, as Madam Malkin explained. The squat witch really knew her trade and took her time to walk him through every kind of material and the standard self-ironing and self-repairing characteristics of her robes and cloaks. She asked about the redness on his arms and lower back too, and after learning it was an itch recommended some essence of Murtlap, which she kindly provided in a half-full bottle of her own.

A very relieved Harry exited the booth half an hour later to find Hagrid sitting on a bench, knitting a yellow cap the size of a circus tent. He stifled a laugh and asked him if he could stop by to fetch the finished clothes when he visited Diagon Alley again. His new friend agreed with a smile and they continued to talk on their way to Ollivander's, the wand shop.

"Why did that bad wizard kill my parents, Hagrid?"

"He turned up in the place yeh was livin', on Halloween some ten years ago, an' killed yer mum an' dad... All 'cause they'd never join him in the Dark Side," he explained, "an' then, fer some mysterious reason he tried ter kill yeh too!"

Harry winced and snapped his neck up at that, waiting for Hagrid to continue his tale. "No one ever lived after he decided ter kill, no one except yeh, Harry! That dark evil curse he'd use on yer parents destroyed yer home, but yeh survived without a scratch, save for--"

"For this scar on my forehead," Harry interrupted, rubbing the lightning bolt shaped mark. "What happened to him?"

"No one knows, he just vanished after that, all we know's that sumething happened to him..."

"Hasn't anyone tried to find this murderer? What's his name anyway?"

The big man winced and bent over to whisper, "Harry, we don't speak his name."

"Well I want to know his name, can't you spell it at least?"

"I'm sorry but--"

"_Tell me!_"

"_Voldemort!_ There, don't yeh ever make me say it again," Hagrid shuddered, huffed and stopped in front of a narrow, simple shop.

With wands being so important for wizards, Harry was a little bit disappointed at the shabby looking shop they entered. A tall old wizard was levitating a brass chandelier to the ceiling and muttering about double sticking charms, standing among hundreds, no, _thousands_ of boxes containing what he assumed were wands of all kinds and sizes.

"Good evening Rubeus Hagrid," the old wizard said, "pity about that wand, very strong oak and sixteen inches long it was... And who might you--"

"This, is my friend Harry Potter, Mr Ollivander!"

Harry grinned at being called friend and noticed Mr Ollivander snap his pale grey eyes to his scar, making him feel self-conscious again, before smiling for a brief moment. "You bring me a challenge, Mr Hagrid!"

Several minutes, a half-burnt wandmaker, toppled piles of wand boxes, a broken window and a dozen tried and failed wands later, Harry was beginning to doubt his wizard status. When the old wizard had returned with yet another pair of wands, they were startled by a very loud boom that shook the shop and rattled the cabinets, toppling even more boxes.

"Fabrius! How many times must I tell you, _twist_ the heartstring clockwise and _then_ bathe it!" he screamed while climbing a ladder leading to the upper floors. Harry was relieved to know he had not been the cause of this last disaster, and briefly glanced at Hagrid before deciding to try yet another one. Mr Ollivander would have to replace one of his chairs, lost to magical fire when he flicked the dark mahogany wand.

"Mr Ollivander, I'm so sorry, I owe you a new chair, sir..."

"No harm done, Mr Potter, this is how it goes," he said, and then apologized for his apprentice's blunder upstairs, "Fabrius is still a novice apprentice, barely thirty one years of study under me."

Harry wondered how old exactly this wizard could be, when a sudden twinkle crossed Mr Ollivander's eyes. He walked back to the shadows of his wand-box-filled-cabinets and returned carefully carrying a single box.

"Could it be?" he wondered out loud, "Please try this one, Mr Potter."

Having already ruined the shop, Harry made a small swish avoiding any chairs, windows and people. The golden shower of sparks the wand tip expelled surprised him but seemed to confirm Mr Ollivander's earlier question.

"Yes, holly, eleven inches, a supple wand with a single phoenix feather at its core. One very impressive wizard was chosen by a wand whose core is the only other donated feather from that same phoenix. This wizard's name, was Lord Voldemort."

"What?" Harry needed to sit but the chair had gone up in smoke earlier, "I don't want anything that links me to my parent's murderer!"

"Oh, he did terrible things I tell you Mr Potter, but wonderful too," he expressed, "we can expect great things from you as well..."

"No, you must be wrong, the--"

"The wand chooses the wizard, and the wizard chooses the magic. Think about it, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander said. He then summed up seven Galleons and fifteen Sickles for adding a wand care kit containing a polishing chamois and the appropriate holly sap extract. Harry had, albeit reluctantly, embraced the feeling of his wand and wished to care for it correctly after all.

Mr Ollivander bowed as they left and Harry pulled some hair forward to cover his forehead, he had enough of the constant embarrassing recognition and wished to return to his uncles' house to tackle yet another problem, how to convince them to sign the Hogwarts letter.

They exited The Leaky Cauldron and mounted the motorcycle again, Harry noticed some details like the faded Triumph brand and a space in front where a mascot figurine probably stood at one time. The leather seats were peeling as was some of the paint from the sidecar itself, and he wondered how the engine itself could run with all that rust. He picked the pink helmet and sighed, securing it over his head and telling Hagrid he was ready.

Twenty minutes later as he knocked on the replaced door of number four Privet Drive, Harry began to scratch his legs and lower back again. He was twitching a little when aunt Petunia, or Dorothea as he would enjoy calling her, opened the door.

"You!" she screamed, and closed the door on his face.

"Allow me, Harry," his friend Hagrid said, waving his frilly umbrella and knocking the door to the floor again.

They didn't find aunt Petunia nor uncle Vernon, but rather a very busy Dudley. Busy chewing on two chocolate bars, one in each thick hand, as he walked downstairs. He screamed and ran to the kitchen bumping into his father who, judging by the bandages on his face, had suffered an intervention to remove the doorknob.

"I've got a gun!" came uncle Vernon's hysterical voice, who was brandishing a long shotgun, "Try something, freak, and I'll shoot!"

Hagrid sighed and moved his umbrella again, and Harry watched fascinated as the shotgun knotted itself around. "Harry's going to Hogwarts like his parents, he's a wizard no matter what yeh've told him--"

"Absolutely not! The boy's going to Stonewall and my Dudders will be attending Smeltings, a _normal_ school for regular, honourable people!"

"Hogwarts is the best school of magic in the world! Headmaster Dumbledore himself asked me to come an' see that Harry received his letter!"

"I don't care for some freak Headmaster Doubledoor, whatever you--"

Harry knew his new friend Hagrid had a very frustrating day, he had been quite demanding of him and sometimes even rude to the giant man, and he understood he was only trying his best to do as instructed by the Hogwarts' Headmaster but also had deep feelings for him because he had been a good friend of his mum and dad, which complicated matters. It wasn't so unexpected then to see him lose his temper for the first time. Hagrid pointed his pink umbrella and a loud purple cracker flew from it, hitting Dudley who was finishing his candy while hiding behind the kitchen table. He squealed and ran around holding his bottom, from where a very curled pink tail hung.

"An' that's fer turning yer own child into a pig, Dursley! Don't tempt me or I'll turn yeh into a walrus... Well even more of a walrus than yeh already are!"

"We only need my aunt Petunia _Dorothea_ to sign my Hogwarts letter," Harry said, emphasising her name. His aunt gasped at her middle name and quietly muttered something about how could the freak know. "Because of my parents you're not required to pay anything, but since you're my legal guardians and I live here, and I hope you won't send me to an orphanage like you've threatened me so many times..." Harry heard Hagrid gasp and feared his aunt would sprout a horse tail, "Besides, it's a boarding school so you'll only get to see me in the summer!"

"You mean this freak school of m--" he couldn't say the word, "School of m-m--" uncle Vernon tried again, "School of you-know-what is already paid for? And he'll be away for nine months of the year?" Hagrid grunted and nodded, so his uncle simply stated "I'll sign it!" before hunching over the parchment form.

"Vernon, no!" aunt Petunia Dorothea shouted, "He'll be back doing ma-- Doing weird things like turning all my cups into _rats_!"

"Harry yeh can't turn cups into rats. Not yet anyway, 'cause yeh're under-age an' yeh can't do magic out o' Hogwarts 'til yeh're seventeen," he explained.

"_What!?_" Harry yelled, "But, but--"

"I'm sorry Harry, I'd think yeh'd now that..." Hagrid apologized.

"Ah, the irony," uncle Vernon gloated, "did you hear that boy? That means _no funny business_ for you!" he then moaned in pain and gingerly touched his bandaged jaw.

Harry also moaned and looked at the wand in his pocket, it was so close, yet so faraway. He said goodbye to Hagrid and walked to his new bedroom, scratching his arms and wondering how many chores he would have to perform until September the first.

* * *

Notes:

(out of chronological order)  
1.- Sounds can trigger buried memories related to them, as can smells, tastes and images because they reactivate the pathways in the brain leading to those relationships within our memory centre.  
2.- "XIV:XXIII g.u.t.k. - XIV:XXXIV g.u.k.t."; 14:23 and 14:34 in Roman numerals; "g.u.t.k." is Goblin Universal Time-Keeper, upon which the Greenwich Mean Time was established for time keeping purposes by a neurotic wizard named Willem von Orloge whose greatest ambition was to dominate Muggles by controlling time. I'd say he has partly succeeded.  
3.- "Working for free" like Hermione mentioned in the bank is as terrible for a goblin as being thrown in Azkaban for life, or maybe worse!  
4.- I understand it's more widely accepted that Hagrid arrived by thestral to look for Harry in the hut by the sea, but since Harry followed a different path regarding the Hogwarts letters, he arrived on a classic Triumph T120 motorcycle fitted with a Watsonian sidecar.  
5.- The Potter vault at Gringotts and its security process is made up, I've completely forgotten the canon version of Harry's first visit to the goblin bank, and I don't have the books with me. Also I apologise if it's too convenient for Harry to be able to draw all the Galleons he can, I hope it's believable enough.  
6.- "Paper cannot wrap up a fire" is a Chinese proverb.


	5. Chapter 5: Dich wiederzusehen, dich!

**Chapter 5: Dich wiederzusehen, dich!**

Harry Potter stirred on his new bed, his first impulse was to coil in fright but then he remembered where he was and how he had come to be there. He scratched his lower back, opened the window and picked a few faded, oversized clothes with him for a quick shower.

It was a rare experience for him, feeling the warm water had a soothing effect on his itching and Harry let his mind reel with everything he had learnt the day before, from the fact he was a wizard to the fact his parents actually loved him and had died defending him from a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort. He tried hard to hold the tears while asking his father and mother for forgiveness, telling them how sorry he was for hating them and for believing the lies his horrible uncles had told him.

His sorrow was interrupted by one of the culprits herself, aunt Petunia's yelling could be heard chastising him for daring to use the shower instead of cleaning himself from the tap as he was allowed to do. Harry sighed, closed the valve and dried himself with a towel before dressing and leaving for the kitchen, where he ignored the continuous telling and threats of further chores to pay for the water and electricity he used.

"Only two breakfast plates, boy! Vernon's at work early to compensate for your weirdness yesterday, and I'm taking Duddleykins to have his new uniform fitted," she cooed while pinching Dudley on the cheek. His cousin was having some problems seating properly, it looked as if having a pig tail on his buttocks could be quite uncomfortable for some activities. Harry thought about his own new uniform, and how good it felt to be able to actually purchase new clothes, and a wand, and everything he wanted with his own money!

As the bacon sizzled, Harry continued to daydream of how many things he could buy for himself, he could even walk into a shop and come out with a grand piano on his back! He could eat proper meals every summer day, all that money would allow him to have friends and have a real birthday cake come July the thirty first; he snickered imagining how many presents he could purchase, "I'd have a pile bigger than Dud--" Harry let his arms fall to the side all of the sudden, "But then... Then I'd become just like Dudley..." he said, looking at the fat boy as he hit his aunt on the head with a long kitchen fork because she had walked in front of the television set.

"I don't wanna be like Dudley," he repeated out loud without noticing, but aunt Petunia managed to hear him.

"Of course you'll _never_ be anything like my Dudders! He's a wonderful boy and he's going to a _real_ school for people who are _worthy_," she spat at him.

"Yes aunt Doro--"

"_Boy!_"

"I mean, yes aunt Petunia," he quickly corrected and returned to the stove.

The unsettling notion of becoming a big bully like Dudley continued to haunt him, he finished breakfast, was given the leftovers to eat and washed the dishes before going to his room. He dropped to the floor and picked the silver card holder full of Muggle money, as Hagrid had called it. Harry was running a finger over it when the wind pushed the window a little bit, making him catch a glimpse of his own reflection on it.

"Idiot!" he yelled and hurled the tiny miniaturized thin trunk, hitting his mirrored image on the glass pane and cracking the window. Embarrassed of himself, Harry buried his face in his cupped hands and sighed. He had a new life in front of him and all he had been able to imagine was how to buy friends and how to best his cousin in the item of stupidity.

"Mum and dad would be ashamed of me, even the girl behind the glass would be ashamed of me," he mumbled before walking to the window and checking the damage.

Harry opened the silver case using the runes and removed a single fifty pounds note, shrank it again using the same finger-writing and removed his wand from under the mattress. Carrying all his magical items either around his neck or in his pockets, he walked downstairs and made a show of finding the clipping shears and telling his aunt he was going to do gardening at Mrs Mulligan, which he actually intended to after returning from a quick journey to the nearest bed clothing shop. Aunt Petunia dismissed him with the same wave of her hand she used to push flies away and he set out for adventure.

A very short-lived adventure it was, for it ended with him stepping out of the bus with an apology no sooner than he boarded and tried to pay his fare with a fifty pound banknote. He had forgotten to bring any coins with him, and would have had to purchase a life-long bus ticket, or so had the driver told him. Walking back to Privet Drive, he decided to prune Mrs Mulligan's hedges instead and chance a light lunch at Mrs Figg rather than face aunt Petunia's stingy scraps; his worn-out blanket, formerly a curtain with etched little chirping birds, would have to be replaced another day.

An hour and three quarters later, and five pounds richer, well actually two pounds richer since uncle Vernon was paid a manager's fee equivalent to half his earnings plus a daily fifty pence rental for the use of his clipping shears, Harry chased and finally captured a tabby cat he was sure belonged to Mrs Figg's that tried to run from him in Wisteria Walk and knocked on the old lady's door.

"Hello dear," she greeted, "how have you been?"

"I'm all right, Mrs Figg. I've brought you one of your cats!"

She hesitated for a second, "That's not one of my babies, Harry. See for yourself, Mr Paws, Ms Tufty and Mr Snowy are resting over there on the couch, and Mr Tibbles is standing right behind you," Mrs Figg pointed over his shoulder.

"Oops!" Harry said while lifting the feline to his face and looking at the odd markings around its eyes, "I'm so sorry, I better put the cat back where I found it then..."

He returned shortly after and politely accepted an offer for tea and cold sandwiches, taking his time to help and to please the lonely lady with a few melodies on her poorly tuned piano. She noticed his discomfort and constant scratching, asked about it and he told her it was after a motorcycle ride that he began to itch. Mrs Figg walked to the corner table, picked a jar containing a yellow powder inside and without previous warning tossed a handful of it on him.

"For the fleas, dear," she explained.

"Fleas?!"

* * *

The night was no deterrent for Hermione Granger, it was more of a partner in crime, if escaping through her round attic window to roam the neighbourhood was a crime. It was close to four in the morning and she was sitting with her legs crossed on the topmost roof of an old house, thinking about her new life as a witch. She was wide awake due to falling asleep in the car the evening before while returning from the most magical of places, a hub of wizard activity called Diagon Alley where everything was fascinatingly new. It was so unfamiliar, that she was scared.

She had always been proud of comprehensively understanding the world around her, because an insatiable thirst for knowledge and to prove her worth drove Hermione to try her best at everything she proposed herself, in spite of the personal cost of being teased and ridiculed. At the age of eight she had met a little boy who showed her there was an equal somewhere, Green-eyes, as she called him, had given her the hope to cling to when no family wished to touch her, when no schoolmate wished to befriend her, and when no sweet dreams comforted her.

Now that hope materialized and she had a new opportunity in a world where she belonged and the until then hard to explain events around her made perfect sense. Furthermore, if Mrs Morewitt and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall were any indication, wizards were wise and powerful, and would appreciate her for who she was, instead of making fun of her dorky habits.

The only problem was that Hermione had never known of the very existence of a magical world until yesterday, whereas there were around forty new students going to Hogwarts that were probably sons and daughters of other wizards and witches, having grown up in such environment gave them an unfair advantage that she would have to counter somehow, lest she be ridiculed not because of being too smart, but for being too dumb.

Some of the books she purchased at The Earmarked Parlour provided help in solving a few riddles of the magical world, one titled Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century explained some events that had actually breached the invisible barrier separating the Muggle and wizarding worlds she had grown to be a product of. Another big book, Hogwarts: a History was quite intriguing as it told of the school's founding and it's millenarian history, yet left many accounts unfinished or simply skipped over large portions of time.

She had felt her blood freeze when reading about a baby named Harry Potter, who had defeated the darkest wizard of the times, escaping with nothing but a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead, according to several unconfirmed witnesses accounts. The dates coincided with a child of Hermione's age, and the image of a boy with a similar scar behind thick glass flooded her mind. Could it be him? Did green-eyes make such a deep and lasting impression on her because he was such a powerful wizard? She shook her head to clear those unanswered questions, it was enough for her to have shared an instant with him, to have him tell her there was an equal out there in the world and she would never be alone. How true those words became, since she found a world of equals, of witches and wizards like her.

Pushing that train of thought away again, she turned to the wooden box resting on her lap. Given the under-age magic restriction, she always left her wand inside the protected box Mr Ollivander gently recommended after noticing her cousin Bernadette opening each and every wand box she could in his shop. Hermione had already memorized several basic wand movements and incantations, careful to try them with a wooden kitchen ladle she borrowed and mimic the descriptions, however using a true wand would be a test of her abilities and she would have no time to practice.

"What if I fail, or don't have enough witchcraft in me?" she pleaded to the slowly brightening skies. Her time alone was interrupted by an instinctively recognizable flapping, Kettle had perched next to her and brought her a shining two inches long screw. She thanked him profusely and scratched his head, standing up and guiding him to her right shoulder before heading home.

Bernadette had just woken up it seemed, when she scared Hermione to death by yelling from her bedroom window while she climbed to her attic using the outside wall and makeshift ladder. Hermione stuck her tongue out at her and chose not to reply verbally, knowing she would only bother to accuse her to aunt Claire and uncle Charles if something really important or unusual happened.

She finished climbing and greeted Blacksnout before securing the round window pane open for Kettle to come and go as he pleased. Hermione grabbed a few clothes and took a quick shower, walking downstairs carrying one of her first year books under her arm and sitting by her new place on the table, just opposite aunt Claire and next to her cousin.

"You know dorky-mione, I think your cat John chose me as his new owner," her cousin said after pulling the book on charms Hermione was reading before breakfast, "he's been sleeping with me for the past three nights."

"I'm so sorry for him, Berny, I hope you'll keep your nose out John's life," she commented off-handedly, earning a glare in response, "now give me back my book!"

"Girls! No fighting before seven in the morning, I thought we had an agreement on that?" uncle Charles shouted from the corridor.

"Oh! Daddy, daddy, tell Hermione she's allowed to bring some good-looking wizards for Christmas, pleaseee? There were some cute ones in that Dragon Alley yesterday," she said with a wink.

"Shut up, Berny..." she said flushing madly, "And the name's _Diagon_ Alley!"

Her cousin returned the book and shrugged, grabbed a toast and began to spread butter and jelly over it. Soon the rest of her family had gathered for breakfast and the table discussion drifted to more mundane topics, and she excused herself to her attic again.

Almost a full week after her visit to the hidden wizard centre in London, young Hermione was still struggling with some concepts and had barely finished the first reading of only half her magic books. She considered nothing short of three thorough readings to be satisfactory, and feared many of the incantations she had been memorizing so far were probably misspelled.

When absolutely in doubt or unable to elucidate something alone, she resorted to asking questions by sending a letter to Mrs Morewitt, who couldn't leave her shop due to all the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts students new and old shopping for their books. Her replies were helpful, but Hermione still felt as if she had barely scratched the surface of this wonderful new universe.

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, how inviting the still unfamiliar comfort of a real bed with real soft and hole-free covers was, or how tired he felt after the day's chores, Harry couldn't fall asleep. He had his eyes set on the digital alarm clock he had rescued from a pile of unwanted items Dudley had thrown away, counting the seconds as they pushed each other away into oblivion, painfully slow and irritatingly steady.

"Eleven fifty eight minutes and twenty one seconds, twenty two, twenty three..."

Yes, the boy living in the smallest bedroom was obsessively counting time, but he had a purpose. He would be eleven years old as the thirty first of July arrived, and for the first time he had reason to celebrate. No more than a week ago he had been told the truth about his life, his parents were wizards as was he, and he had been hammered in the head with invitations to attend the best magical school in the world! Not only that, but he had also made a friend, a real friend the size of a wardrobe who had promised to come and visit him again for his birthday party.

Harry didn't tell his giant friend that his relatives had never, nor would they ever celebrate his birthday, although they did have fun giving him mostly useless presents. Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where he would study come September, would be arriving during the day and he wanted to have something to offer, at least a few pancakes since aunt Petunia had no dragon meat stocked in the icebox.

His aunt had questioned him constantly about the new bed covers, first she accused him of stealing them from the neighbours and then of taking them from Dudley's bed, but she could clearly see they had no little dancing bears or jolly clowns holding colourful balloons on them. That was his first and last selfish purchase anyway, he decided becoming anything like his cousin was too shameful and not something he wished to accomplish. It was horrible enough to have been chosen by a similar wand to the one his parents' murderer had used to kill them.

Besides, Harry was forced to stay in his room ever since Dudley had been taken to his new uniform fitting. His cousin had stayed overnight in the hospital to remove the veritable pig tail Hagrid gave him, and according to his aunt the seamstress had fainted when she saw it and Petunia thought it best to remove the added appendage before attending Smeltings. Uncle Vernon was so upset he had forbidden Harry from leaving his bedroom until September the first, or forever if "any more funny business happened in this house" he had shouted before shoving him inside the smallest bedroom.

"Whoo-hoo!" Harry yelled as the clock's digits turned to zeros. He turned on his bed and let his head fall on a real pillow, a bit puffy but a pillow after all, closing his eyes and welcoming the oblivion of sleep. That is until he heard a loud bang followed by a deep thump, hurried footsteps and screams in a striking dj vu of last week. "Hagrid must've come for breakfast", he wondered while glancing at the clock and reading seven twenty one in the morning.

Silently opening his door and hoping his relatives were too distracted by the giant to notice him breaking out of his bedroom, Harry walked to the top of the stairs and popped his head over the banister. Sure enough, his large friend stood on the Dursleys' front door, quite literally because it had fallen off its hinges again, holding a curious set of large packages. He beamed upon catching a sight of him and welcomed Harry downstairs, who looked up at him with a sincere smile for remembering his birthday.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said, "it took me a lot o' pleadin' with the Headmaster ter come and see yeh again, but I'd never break my promise!"

"Thank you!" Harry hugged his large friend's leg and then invited him to the kitchen leaving his uncles cowering behind the couch and Dudley holding his recently mended bottom with both hands right behind his parents. Hagrid bent over to avoid the overhead lamps and fit through the door, and then placed all his oddly shaped bundles on the counter.

"Now Harry, I'm certain yer uncles 'ave put up a nice birthday party fer yeh, but I've made yeh a cake anyway," the large man explained, waving his oversized arms and picking a square package next to a strange, shaking one wrapped in brown paper.

"Thanks Hagrid, I don't deserve it--"

"Nonsense! An' I've got yeh sumething else, c'mon, open it!"

Harry approached the shaking brown present and touched in gingerly first, Hagrid insisted it wouldn't bite him and urged him to rip the paper. As he pulled the brown wrapping out, two large yellow eyes surrounded by a pristine mantle of white feathers locked with his.

"It's an owl!"

"Snowy owl, an' I thought yeh'd like it ter have a nice home, so I used yer Galleons fer this rosewood cage!"

Staring at the ornate brass-barred, rosewood framed octagonal cage, Harry chanced a greeting to his new flying friend. Having witnessed their intelligence before, and strength he remembered while rubbing the back of his head, he wanted to treat it as an equal. Opening the side door, he noticed a large perch and a plush toy mouse that actually wriggled and squealed while hanging by the tail from a hook.

"No ruddy owls in _my house_, I don't care who--"

Hagrid interrupted uncle Vernon's tirade by subtly placing a frilly pink umbrella on his lap, and Harry extended his arm for the snowy owl to climb. It looked at him again and hooted, he smiled and ran a couple of fingers over its head before returning the owl to its fancy cage.

"Breakfast, Hagrid?" he asked while setting a few pans on the stove and taking the ingredients needed for pancakes. Harry took the chance knowing no punishment would be delivered by his relatives while his magical friend was there.

He stood amazed with his mouth hanging open, staring at the foot and a half tall pile of pancakes Hagrid devoured in under three gulps, he also noticed his uncle's red face, his cousin's watering mouth and his aunt's horrified eyes peeking through the kitchen door every few minutes. Harry snickered and thoughtfully scraped a few leftovers after they finished the meal, leaving them on a plate for his uncles to serve themselves later.

Harry heard uncle Vernon yell something about going to work and wanting to find the house free of freaks when he returned, before storming out the door-less front entrance where he was heard telling the neighbours they were changing the door, "too much crime" he explained.

Turning to the cake Hagrid had brought, he picked it and wondered whether it had been dropped or perhaps jolted around in the way there. The top of the apparently meringue covered layer was lopsided and one half completely dry, the layers below differed in colour, either from separate flavours or, to Harry's utmost fear, an excess of wizard ingredients; a bright pattern-changing candle with a spinning number eleven in gold topped his birthday cake.

"Made it meself," Hagrid boomed, pointing his umbrella and lighting the candle, "now make a wish!"

Harry felt ashamed of himself again, only a few hours ago he had been thinking of how big and fancy a cake he could have bought with his money if he wasn't confined to the bedroom, and yet an entire bakery could never compare to this odd looking birthday cake, because a _friend_ had made it for him, thinking of him. "I wish to be worthy of friends," he muttered and then blew the magic candle, which continued to change colours and spin its double ones.

Producing a knife from his huge moleskin coat, Hagrid cut the home-made pastry and handed him a slice before quickly devouring his own. Harry tried as much as he could to take a bite of his birthday cake, he tried it sideways, he tried dumping the cake slice in a glass of milk, he tried smashing it with a plate and he even tried subtly chiselling it into smaller pieces, only to end up bending his fork. Either he broke his teeth or he found a way to turn the rock-hard cake into something edible by humans, anything else and he would be disappointing Hagrid.

Harry chose to risk his teeth and keep a friend. "Hard as stone," he thought but managed to scrape an edge and taste a few crumbs. They continued to talk about Hogwarts and he learnt a little more regarding Lily and James Potter; it turned out they were Head Boy and Head Girl, a very desired and contested position in the school's seventh year. They had also been very powerful wizards, something Hagrid was sure Harry had inherited fully.

He asked about the large man's time at Hogwarts, he looked a bit embarrassed and said he had been expelled, without further explanations, but that he had been given a good job at the school and was grateful to Headmaster Dumbledore. Hagrid also explained to him how to care for his owl and the fact it was a she, meaning it was sure to have a more temperamental character.

"This is my best birthday ever, Hagrid, I'm very happy to have you as a friend!" Harry said and hugged the oversized man. He nodded and wiped a tear from his bearded face, telling him that he was supposed to be back soon and would be seeing him at the school.

Walking him outside, Harry didn't see the motorcycle anywhere and asked how he had arrived today, to what Hagrid simply shrugged and answered he had flown. He didn't have a chance to continue asking because aunt Petunia started to shout about someone fixing her door, and the giant used a hand to lift it and jam it on the door-frame, just before waving goodbye at Harry.

Trying to eat another bite of his birthday cake but unable to accomplish the task, he cooed in his owl's ear and picked her cage, bringing the cake, wizard clothes and trunk full of books up to his bedroom. "Go to your room and stay there!" he heard aunt Petunia scream once he finished clearing the kitchen. He complied and sat on the bed flipping through some of his books, but unable to read for too long without headaches or simply without losing interest, by late evening Harry began to think of a name for his snowy owl. He chose Hedwig, a name mentioned in one of the schoolbooks he had just glanced through, and she seemed to approve with a hoot.

Hedwig's cage had hooks on the sides and on top, he knew birds of all kinds enjoyed heights and then escaped silently to look for a few nails or anything he could use to hang it on the wall. Finding no hammer and fearing being discovered outside his room, Harry grabbed only a handful of nails and sped upstairs before Dudley or aunt Petunia could see him. Hagrid's cake would prove invaluable in more than one way after all, he used his slice to hammer the nails on the wall and, happy with the results, hung the owl's cage and fell back on the bed, hands behind his head.

The very next morning he woke to strange sounds on his door, drills and screws poked on the door and he sat upright surprised, before knocking on the door. Uncle Vernon opened and smirked at him, pointing to a chain and waving a big padlock on his hand.

"That's to make sure you don't disobey me again, you worthless freak! After all we've given you, and you bring that... That monster into my house?"

"But--"

"Don't you dare answer me boy!" he yelled through the slightly ajar door, "Be thankful we're still allowing you to go to that school of m-m-- School of freaks!"

So it was that Harry spent the rest of the month confined and locked in his new bedroom, being dragged outside for house chores only to be promptly shoved back in as soon as he was finished. The wait was unbearable but he contented himself composing music and playing on an imaginary keyboard, playing with Hedwig and with his wand, or daydreaming about his parents and wondering if somehow the little brown-eyed girl who lived in his dreams had any part in turning his life around like this.

Hedwig had knocked the light bulb in the ceiling away while flying around, he had no real lamp because the room was stripped bare of everything before Harry was allowed to live there, except for a mattress and the thick curtains, which his uncles insisted were always shut so that the neighbours could not see him. He had no light available after sunset unless he could buy and smuggle a new light bulb, but the bedside clock on the floor was illuminated and he lay on his side counting seconds again, wishing for September the first to arrive quickly and release him from this prison once and for all.

* * *

"Wingurd-- No, that's wrong, wingardiummm leviosah!" Hermione said while waving the wooden soup ladle, huffing at her continuous mispronunciation when she was less than a week away from going to Hogwarts. She continued practising her first year spells and completing her second or third reading of the course books in anticipation of the day she would face the magical world. She only left her attic for using the lavatory or to share a meal, which she would barely touch at all.

Her previously fitting robes were now somewhat loose, and she had returned to an old habit of biting her nails; she sat on the rocking chair and chewed on the remaining bits of her pinky nail before turning the page and casting a quick glance at Blacksnout, who was coiled above her around a wooden beam. "You're the lucky one," she told him, thinking how much easier it was to be a lazy boa constrictor than a Muggle-born witch.

She switched subjects again, delving into the amusing history of the wizarding world and its battles, landmarks and curiosities. Hermione found references to her new Headmaster, it seemed Albus Dumbledore was a very revered figure indeed, and she couldn't wait to meet him!

But wait she did, the days lingered and the hours slugged over the endless path of time, that eternal walk with no beginning and no end. She studied and she trained, she prepared and researched, her trunk had been redone at least seven times by the end of August, and no matter how many reprimands, pleas, threats or bribes she received from her uncles she wouldn't eat or sleep properly. A single month was all the time she had to fill her head with millennia of magical culture, and it was all but spent.

Mrs Morewitt was more than glad to answer her owled, or rather ravened questions, but even she had chastised Hermione for being too obsessive, and refused to answer any more letters until she had been assured by aunt Claire that she was resting and having fun as a child should.

Having received a phone call from Annie, who had returned from vacation abroad, they agreed to meet for lunch and uncle Charles was more than happy to push his obligations aside if it meant dragging Hermione out of her attic. She could see her uncle two tables away, reading a magazine, while she had a difficult conversation with her friend.

"So that means you'll be away for the whole year?" Annie asked.

"Yeah, it's a very, very special school, and I really want to go, but I... I'm not..."

"Are you nervous about going there?"

Hermione simply nodded and her friend confessed she had noticed the heavy bags under her eyes, and how thin she was. They continued to eat their happy meals in silence for a while.

"You know that I'm, well that I'm not good at making friends, and I just found you and I--"

"Hermione you're not gonna loose my friendship because of this," Annie said, "and I'm sure we'll be able to write each other!"

She lifted an eyebrow, wondering how Annie would react to receiving a parchment letter delivered by a big black raven with a missing toe. Leaving a mental note to ask Mrs Morewitt about Muggle post to and from Hogwarts, the girls continued to talk and share their summer experience, or rather Hermione listened to her friend's tales of vacation in Greece while she shared snippets of summer life in an attic.

She returned home to lock herself again inside that attic, packing, reading, practising. Her last two days were spent wondering if she could have her trunk resemble her goblin gold pouch, storing ten times more than what would fit right now, because either she went to school naked, or she left half her Muggle and magical books at home! Another problem was the fact her Hogwarts letter explicitly indicated the possibility of bringing one familiar with her. Kettle would find her anywhere, and she had bought him a very beautiful cage for that purpose, but she trusted neither her uncles nor her cousin to take good care of Blacksnout while she was gone. Hermione sat annoyed on the glossy red trunk with her arms crossed, furrowed her brow and huffed, wondering how to solve her dilemmas.

Less than one day to go and she had still to manage closing her trunk, but at least she had found a big old leather travel sack where her clothes fit nicely, and had reduced the amount of Muggle books to a third of her initial selection. Rearranging the positions of some items and placing her lapis lazuli magical puzzle to a corner, she pulled the lid over and jumped on top, releasing a loud "yes!" when the latches finally snapped shut.

The thirty first of August died with a beep of her digital watch, in eleven hours she would be leaving for the greatest adventure of her life and she still felt completely unprepared, despite her elder witch friend's reassurances. Hermione would face the challenge as she always did, head held high and with the conviction that no matter how difficult the path ahead, she would walk it to the end. With those last thoughts, she decided to have a full six hours of sleep and sprawled herself over the comfort of the large bed she was sure to miss when sharing a bedroom with other girls at Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry had no idea where, how or why he was being sprayed in the face and everywhere else with a very noxious spray of insecticide. All he could hear were aunt Petunia's scream about fleas and abominable freaks invading her home and bringing all sort of pests with them, before storming away and shouting at him to get ready to leave.

He had noticed Dudley scratching himself since before his birthday and Hagrid's visit, but last week his uncles began scratching themselves too. Now he knew why, whatever powder Mrs Figg had thrown at him had kept the fleas away but not killed them. They simply looked for new hosts.

"Ready to go Hedwig?" he asked and received a nod in reply.

Heaving the very full trunk and dragging it downstairs, he put it inside uncle Vernon's car and walked back inside to fetch Hedwig and use the privacy of the lavatory to check his gold pouches and Muggle money. He twirled his wand around his fingers again before replacing it under his sleeve and walking away to seat in the back seat without looking back.

The journey was silently deadly, glares were aimed at him every few seconds and grunts were heard after every hoot from Hedwig. Uncle Vernon only spoke upon reaching their destination, saying he had already spent too much on repairing his front door three times and that parking at the railway station was too expensive for any reasonable man to pay, therefore he rounded the area and made his way to a clear stretch of road. He stopped to exit the car and drag Harry out, cage included, pop the lid of the luggage compartment open and drop his trunk unceremoniously on the hard asphalt.

"I hope not to hear from you or your kind again," he said, climbed back inside his vehicle and sped away, leaving Harry to fend for himself with a heavy trunk and a huge birdcage, ten blocks away from King's Cross Station.

A group of Japanese tourists dressed in their strange traditional shiny silk clothes had seen the event unfold, they snapped a few pictures and then approached him while he was still sitting on the floor. One of the elderly tourists who sported a very thin white beard and a funny black hat with etched silver dragons bowed to him and extended his hand.

Unfamiliar with such gestures, Harry recoiled at first but the old Asian man kept his offered hand firmly in front of him. He extended his own thin arm and was promptly lifted to his feet, while the other eight foreigners continued to snap pictures of him and his owl Hedwig using their ancient looking photo cameras.

"T-Thank you, sir," he said.

The others took turns bowing to him and Harry did the same, patiently imitating their gestures one by one, and then they stood looking at him expectantly.

"I'm, er... Oh bother! What time is it?" he asked as he remembered why exactly he had been dumped near King's Cross.

The Japanese men and women looked at their eldest companion and, with another bow, continued on their merry way snapping more pictures of trash canisters and parked cars. Without a word, the old man graciously lifted Hedwig's cage and walked east towards the railway station. Harry snapped out of his confusion when the man was roughly twenty paces away, he heaved his heavy moss-green trunk and ran to join him.

"Sir? Do... You know... The way to--" he tried to ask between heavy breaths but the older man silenced him with the lift of a hand.

"Fumimaro Daisuke, is my name," he introduced himself with another bow, which Harry mimicked once more, stating his name as well.

"Harry," he said as he finished his bow, "and I wondered if you knew the way to King's Cross, Mr Duis-- Deys-- Er, sir?"

Embarrassed for being unable to repeat the kind old man's name, Harry remained silent and followed him down the avenue, they turned left and came upon the large building from where his new life would begin. Already tired from dragging his heavy trunk along, the young boy rushed to the first available cart and used his last strength to heave the luggage on it, dropping face first on top and exhaling deeply. The old man placed Hedwig softly on top and motioned for Harry to walk inside, bowing again and saying "Good luck, Mr Potter."

He replied with yet another slight bow and turned away, but thinking he should have thanked the strange tourist more politely, looked over his shoulder only to find he had already vanished, probably rejoining his group of photography addicted friends.

"Platform seven... Eight... Nine! And _ten_?" Harry scratched the back of his head again, "How am I supposed to board a train if the platform isn't there?" he had been wandering up and down the people packed station three times already. It was ten minutes to eleven in the morning and he was beginning to feel desperate, until one word caught his ear. Muggles, he heard, and after looking around found a family of red-haired children pushing carts loaded with trunks instead of regular suitcases.

He approached and watched them standing in front of the pillar between platforms ten and nine. The adults were holding to an older boy's shoulder and, after glancing around, told him to go. Harry cringed and thought the boy was about to crash into the wall but then he simply vanished through it!

"Excuse me?" he asked approaching the lady that seemed to be the red-haired boys' mother, "Could you please help me, I'm supposed to find platform nine and three quarters?"

"Just go through there," a beautiful girl around his age answered, she was obviously related to the older woman.

He hesitated for a second, looked up at the girl's mother and breathed deep, pushing his cart straight forward but refusing to close his eyes. Knowing magic could be, well quite magical, he accepted the need to go through a solid brick pillar and allowed the wall to swallow him. Within an instant Harry found himself next to the most magnificent train he had ever seen. No picture or toy train could do it justice, the thick white steam pouring out of the locomotive engulfed him as he followed the contours of the metallic scarlet skin, the polished brass handles and huge golden bell, and the gleaming black chimney on top.

Hundreds of children and their parents ran to and fro the passenger cars, pulling trunks, escaping hugs and sharing last moment kisses. He felt somewhat overwhelmed and with great effort climbed on board, looking for the farthest empty compartment he could find, placing Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk, from where he pulled the Hogwarts required robes and cloak, quickly donning them as Hagrid had instructed him to do.

Resting after the exhausting start of his journey, Harry's mind cleared enough to recognize he had never told the silent old man his family name, yet he had wished him good luck and addressed him as Mr Potter! His thoughts made him miss the fact that the train was already in motion and only noticed it when a red-haired boy knocked on the wooden sliding door and asked to sit with him.

"Everywhere else's full, would you mind sharing?"

"Of course not," he said, "come in, sorry about the trunk, I had to drag it for a mile and didn't have the strength to put it away..."

The taller, freckled boy waved and took a seat opposite him, admiring Hedwig. "I'm Ronald Weasley, Ron for short."

"Harry Potter," he answered in kind.

"Really?" the boy named Ron asked and looked up at his hair-covered forehead, "Blimey, mum said you'd be in my year at Hogwarts but I didn't believe her."

Harry felt extremely self-conscious again, much like he had when Hagrid offered him a wizard's meal in The Leaky Cauldron and people queued to shake his hand. Thinking of a way to change the subject, he asked him about his family. "I saw your family outside the platform in King's Cross."

"Yeah, it was full of Muggles, wasn't it?" Ron said, "I thought you would've _apparated_ directly into the platform!"

"Apparated?" Harry asked, "I don't know what you mean..."

Ron sat open-mouthed before regaining his wits, "You know, apparating!"

"Sorry, don't really know what that is, I live with my uncles and... And they never told me I was a wizard, you see..."

"Oy! You mean you've lived with Muggles all your life?"

Harry nodded, "Are all your family witches and wizards?"

It was Ron's turn to nod, and they stared at each other, trying sort the many questions running in their minds. Harry had so many, including what apparating was, but chose to ask the one he had been struggling with since that day Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley.

"Do you what happened to Lord Voldemort?"

Ron shrieked loudly, waking up a large white rat he had kept hidden under his sweater that squeaked in unison. Holding the struggling rat, Ron took a deep breath and, looking straight at Harry, whispered "Don't say his name!"

"What name, Voldemort?"

The red-haired boy shrieked again, "Yes, him! Now hush Harry, blimey!"

"Why don't you want me to say Vold--"

"Stop repeating You-Know-Who's bloody name," Ron said actually becoming somewhat angry, "not all of us are like you!"

"My friend Hagrid didn't like to say the name either, why's that?"

Whatever answer Ron was prepared to give remained unknown when a lady pushing a cart full of sweets opened the sliding door to offer her goods. Harry looked at his schoolmate Ron and saw him counting some Knuts, and asking for one chocolate frog.

"Are those other sweets any good?" he asked out of real curiosity.

"Yeah, but expensive," Ron answered and picked a wrapped candy.

Harry thought about it for a second, he needed to know and understand this new world, and what better place to start than sweets! "We'll have a few boxes of everything," he said, and pulled a couple of Galleons from his goblin pouch.

"Blimey, Harry that's a lot of gold!"

He shrugged and the cart lady gave them boxes full of Pumpkin Pastries, Berttie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes, among other items he could afford with the two Galleons he fished before. "So that was your mum and brothers I saw in the station? All of them?"

"Five brothers unfortunately, and an annoying little sister..."

"I liked her, she told me how to get through the wall. What's it like to be a wizard?"

Ron looked befuddled by the question, "What do you mean?" he asked.

"What do you do for fun, where do you go, that sort of thing!"

"I play Quidditch! And... And... I dunno, go visit relatives and such?"

Not knowing what Quidditch was, and not wanting to lose a promising friendship because of his own ignorance, he nodded and was about to ask something else when the door opened again. A boy with a face he had already seen peeking through the glass cleared his throat in a pompous manner and asked, "Excuse me, you must be Harry Potter. My friends were having a debate whether you are him or not?"

"Yeah, I'm Harry."

"Excellent, my name is Draco Malfoy. Would you care to spend time in the company of more _respectable_ people?"

"Er..." came Harry's eloquent reply, "I'm fine here, thanks."

"Red hair, shabby clothes, ridiculous familiar, undoubtedly yet _another_ Weasley..." the boy who identified himself as Draco sneered, "Pity, I hope you come to your senses, Potter, and find the right friends to be with," he said before walking away with two other boys.

"What was _that_ all about?" Harry asked.

Ron looked at his feet for a moment, "He's a rich pompous prick, that's what it was. You see my family couldn't really afford-- I mean instead of an owl, I inherited my older brother Percy's rat here," he said pointing at the sleeping rodent.

"I'd love to have brothers, _wizard_ brothers!"

"No you wouldn't! It's bloody horrible!" Ron exclaimed, "They keep making fun of you, and playing pranks and then doing magic on you, all because I can't..."

"But you said you play Kiltrich with them," said Harry, already imagining what it would be to have grown with brothers instead of a bullying cousin.

"Quidditch, and yeah we play sometimes, but it's like..." he looked gloomy and tried to explain, "It's like this, my older brother Bill's a successful curse-breaker, then Charlie was the best chaser in the Gryffindor team, Percy's already a prefect and has the best grades ever in Hogwarts, the twins Fred and George are like geniuses or something, they'd prank the Headmaster himself if they had time to do it... My sister Ginny happens to be the only girl, so she's got all of mum's attention. And then there's me."

"It's all right, Ron, you'll be good at something too," Harry understood very well what it was to feel worthless, "all you need is courage to be a better wizard and to know your talents!"

He looked at his newest friend Ron, who then blushed as red as his hair and mumbled something about cheese. Harry had to ask again, because even with his trained ear the rattle of the train car wheels over the rails muffled whatever he had said.

"No, not cheese, _chess_! I'm good at chess, wizard's chess? No one at home can beat me..."

Harry smiled and then congratulated him, "See? That's a talent you've got, and nobody else!"

"Yeah, I reckon I do," he said, with clearly uplifted spirits.

"What about magic spells, can you do any?"

"My brothers taught me one, hold on," Ron said, picking his wand and his pet rat called Scabbers. He told Harry that the wand was also a hand-me-down from Percy, and tried a very long incantation that was supposed to turn his rat yellow.

Disappointed because Scabbers remained as dirty and white furred as he was seconds before, Harry continued to enjoy some wizard sweets and took in the rushing scenery out the window, while Ron tried the flourish wand movements and silly incantation again.

He then heard a knock on the compartment door, it slid open and a girl with bright brown eyes, a mane of frizzled hair framing her face and a petite nose above very familiar long front teeth took a step inside. She politely greeted his red haired friend and apologized for interrupting before turning to greet him. The moment he saw her face reflected on the glass his heart had stopped beating.

It was too wonderful to be true, it was impossible, it was as unthinkable as herding flying cows, she would _never_ be real! The girl who rose from his fantasy world rather than from real life was standing right behind him, her reflection on the windowpane showing a much more vivid and grown-up image than the faint memory of the little girl's face that brought him comfort in so many painful, hopeless nights. Perhaps he had fallen asleep on the train, but it couldn't be true, or else there really were flying cows gaily flapping around in a farm somewhere.

Harry prayed she wouldn't disappear if he tore his eyes from the reflection on the window, regained some control over his breathing and body motion, and turned to face her. She remained standing there, she was real, and at that infinite moment in time Harry felt complete.

* * *

Her wristwatch would perform the programmed alarm chime in no less than seventeen seconds, however Hermione's own sense of time woke her first and, by pressing the plastic button, she cancelled the pre-set command. Knowing that nothing electronic could function properly within Hogwarts, she unhooked the watch and carefully stored it inside her bedside drawer, picked the clothes she had prepared last night and walked downstairs for a shower.

Breakfast turned into a bitter-sweet affair, she was excited but sad, for it was little more than a month ago that she had reconciled with her family. They didn't need fear her because there was an explanation to who she was and why she could do the unusual things she did. Hermione was a witch and would be leaving for the greatest school of magic in the world in less than four hours.

"Everything set, pumpkin?" uncle Charles asked as they finished the meal.

"Yeah... Am I--"

"You've made the right choice, Hermione," he answered her first, "we'll be leaving at nine, be ready by then."

Hermione reviewed her trunk again, checked on Blacksnout and coaxed Kettle to perch himself inside his cage. She removed her wand from the secure box and stored it in her pocket, tied her hair and removed the swivelling pane from her round attic window. She then grabbed a rope and wrapped the heavy trunk and leather bag with it, pulled the other end and through the use of a pulley system heaved her luggage through the glass-less window and down to the ground, thirty feet below.

Once finished, she replaced the pane of glass and locked it, ran a hand over some of her books and things, lifted Kettle's cage and walked downstairs and out to the front yard, where uncle Charles was struggling and puffing, trying to sort her things inside his car.

Pushing the large cage into the passenger seat, Hermione turned to be assaulted by an unexpected hug from her cousin Bernadette, who whispered "Be safe, come back soon!" in her ear, and received a warmer than usual pat on the cheek from aunt Claire. She took one last look at her home and, with a resolute nod, climbed inside the vehicle.

The instructions indicated she was to board the Hogwarts Express before eleven in the morning, on platform nine and three quarters. They had never heard of platforms having anything other than integers however and turned to Mrs Morewitt for help.

The bookshop owner and witch friend had explained how she was supposed to walk through the wall in between platforms nine and ten, but wasn't certain whether uncle Charles would be able to cross it; she had also laughed at Hermione's face when she told them in her time the ghost of Boadicea, the Briton queen, still haunted King's Cross and used to delight herself in scaring the first-years.

Not the most pleasant area of the city, finding a paid parking proved easy enough and they walked to the large building, quickly grabbing the first available cart and resting for a few minutes, regaining their breaths.

"Next time, we'll bring... A cart of our own... Uncle Charles!"

Her uncle was so exhausted he barely nodded and continued to breathe heavily. They were more than an hour earlier but, not wishing to risk the first and only train taking her to Hogwarts, and hoping that a certain tribal ghost wasn't still haunting young first year witches and wizards, Hermione pulled her tired uncle to the correct pillar.

"I think this is where I'll let you go into your world... If only I had known, if--"

"Don't uncle Charles," she said and hugged him, "everything is fine now, I'll see you again for Christmas, all right?"

"Yes pumpkin, we'll be here... Now go, I'll keep an eye out for us Muggles," he whispered.

She looked at the wall, tilted her head and bit her bottom lip for a second, shrugged and walked forward, confidently pushing her cart. Fortunately there was no ghost waiting to scare her to death, only the sight of a wrought iron archway bearing the name of the platform and a magnificent steam train greeted her wide-open eyes.

Very few people were found on the boarding platform itself, it was indeed too early; an old wizard wearing a pointy hat with purple stripes walked along the engine wheels, waving his wand up and down, and a series of magical carts bumped into a couple of Muggle aluminium ones, pushing them over the edge into an unused stretch of rails, effortlessly transferring every trunk, bag and cage. A group of six older students stood in a circle laughing at something and Hermione walked by them to approach the wooden magical carts.

One sprang to life and fought a second cart for the right to carry Hermione's belongings, she laughed and moved back to board a passenger car by the middle of the train, followed by the victorious cart that lifted the heavy trunk, leather bag and raven cage up to her. She pulled Kettle first and then returned twice for the rest of her things, then she made use of the lavatory to change into her robes and Hogwarts cloak, making sure to keep her wand safely stored in the inner pocket.

Curiosity got the best of her, and after fishing for her copy of Hogwarts: A History she sat comfortably to read on the origins of the aptly named Hogwarts Express. _Frederick Edward Bones, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor between 1812 and 1876, discovered a Muggle development running through his family estate, a parallel set of steel lines over wooden boards. Intriguingly ingenious was the contraption that ran over the rails, a series of closed cars pulled by an object Muggles call a steam engine. A similar contraption was adapted to run on magic and became a fair transportation system for the school alumni, since it is not possible--_

"It's not possible to apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds," she completed, having already read the same warning over a hundred times. Returning the book to its place, she spent the following minutes watching families and children saying their goodbyes and fooling around on the platform, until a small round-faced boy and a girl with pale grey eyes, the likes of which she had only seen on Mr Ollivander before, knocked on her compartment door.

"Hello!" she greeted and pulled Kettle's golden cage to a side.

"H-Hello... I, er... Is t-this full?"

Hermione looked around and, confirming she was the only occupant, shook her head and invited the children inside. She introduced herself first, noticing the boy and girl were too nervous to do anything more than look around or at their own feet. "I'm supposed to be the nervous one," Hermione thought and moved forward a little.

"My name's Hermione Granger," she said.

"Lisa, Lisa Turpin," the girl snapped her head at her but struggled to keep a firm eye contact.

The girls then looked expectantly at the small boy, who seemed to remember something and was patting himself all over. "I-I'm Neville Longbottom, p-pleased to meet you..."

"Are you both first years?" Hermione asked.

They nodded, and Lisa pointed at Kettle, "Is the large raven yours?"

"Yes, his name's Kettle, he's been my familiar for more than six years," the raven puffed his feathers and nodded, while Hermione felt proud of using a wizard term to describe her avian friend.

"I wanted an owl but mother offered me a toad, I refused because they're too old-fashioned," Lisa explained, "so I'll be using the school owls for my letters."

"W-Whose leather bag is that?" the boy named Neville asked.

"Mine, why?"

"It's moving!"

Hermione poked the bag, "No it's not..."

"Yeah it is!" the boy insisted.

"Fine!" she said, picking the bag and pushing it under the bench, "Now you can't see it supposedly moving, so there's nothing for you to worry about."

Lisa laughed at the look in Neville's face, "Quite a clever solution, Hermione, I'm certain you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw!"

"Maybe not, my uncle says I've got my father's courage, that's a Gryffindor trait, correct?"

"Your family must be powerful wizards," Lisa said, and Neville looked pale for some reason.

"Actually, I'm Muggle-born..."

"But, but what about your robes, and the magical raven?"

Hermione thought about that for a second, before answering, "Kettle chose me for company when I was very little, and I've been friends with a lady witch for some time, Miranda Morewitt?"

Neville flashed a look of recognition but Lisa simply nodded. "My granny talks about the Morewitts some times, they were k-killed by You-Know-Who..."

Bringing both hands to her mouth, Hermione gasped and fell back on her seat. "I didn't know that, she... She lost her family?"

The boy pursed his lips and nodded silently, before exclaiming "Trevor! I forgot I was looking for him!"

"Who's Trevor, your brother?"

"No, it's my toad, it keeps running away..." he said dejectedly.

Lisa and Hermione stifled a laugh but then she offered to help him find the lost amphibian, asking if Lisa would mind joining the search. The three first year students left the compartment door open and walked along the moving train looking for any sign of it, as well as asking people inside their compartments.

They ran into a blond boy with very pointed facial features, he had similar silver eyes to Lisa and Hermione began to understand this as a physical characteristic in some wizard families. The boy was flanked by two taller young wizards and she felt uncomfortable under his evaluating gaze, as if this boy was examining her for some reason.

The boy nodded and continued on his way up the train, followed by his escorts. She asked Lisa and Neville about him but neither knew for sure who he was. "Probably a Malfoy, father has invited Mr Malfoy home in a couple of occasions for business, and that boy was just a smaller version of him," Lisa added.

They were soon reaching the end of the train, Hermione was leading the search and she reached a compartment with only two boys inside, around her age by the look of it. They were surrounded by sweets and she snickered thinking how many they had already eaten, judging by the smudges on the red-haired boy's mouth. He was holding a fat white rat and waving his wand over it, probably trying some magic, and she knocked before sliding the door to ask about Neville's lost toad.

"Hello, how do you do? I'm sorry to interrupt," she said and turned to greet the other boy who was staring out the window. "Hi, we're looking f-for... We... I..."

Whatever speech abilities she had managed to conquer after eleven years of life among humans flew out the very same window that black-haired boy had been looking through. Hermione saw him turn and face her, and life as a witch became more than a new adventure, it became a dream. Green-eyes was there, sitting among open sweets and wrappers, next to a curious white owl and a red-haired boy holding a sleeping rat.

He was real and he was looking straight at her with those same all-seeing eyes she had encountered so many years ago, but there was no thick glass between them any longer, there would never be anything between them, for he was her equal and she would never leave his side.

* * *

Notes:

1.- Finally a decent sized chapter! Only 10,000 words!  
2.- Dich wiederzusehen, dich! / German; To see you again, you! / Title inspired by the aria "Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen" of The Abduction from the Seraglio, by Mozart.  
3.- I don't know how much sweets cost, I hope two Galleons is enough for lots of boxes! 


	6. Chapter 6: Castles in the Air

**Chapter 6: Castles in the Air**

Near the end of the rearmost passenger car of the Hogwarts Express, a comfortable compartment housed a group of first year pupils. One searched frantically for his lost toad, another tried unsuccessfully to turn his rat yellow, a third was simply enjoying everyone's company, and the last two, the last two had stepped into a world of their own.

Harry vaguely heard someone ask about a lost toad after a moment, and he could almost swear he saw Ron shake his not-so-yellow-as-desired pet rat and reply not seeing any toads jumping around, then asking him if he had seen any inside the compartment.

Meanwhile, Hermione managed to regain some sensory information of her surroundings, she heard a rather doubtful spell being cast by someone and, discovering how to breathe again, sat sideways next to the bespectacled boy while tucking one leg under herself. She leaned a few inches closer and scrutinized him, leaving a very uncomfortable group of children to observe the unusual scene. Hermione extended one arm to brush the bespectacled boy's hair, he flinched but didn't back away and she finished her intended motion, exposing his lightning shaped scar. Harry in turn gathered his nerves, ignored the flock of overgrown bats swirling inside his stomach and did the same to her, pushing her tangled hair to the side and revealing a clearly defined long gash that began on her jawline, running down her neck and below her shirt collar, with no end in sight.

"I knew it was you..." Hermione whispered, still facing him while the other boy asked Lisa and Neville if they knew this weird girl.

"You're real!" Harry managed to say, "You're truly real, a-and you're a witch!"

"Hermione Granger, that's my name and you are quite right Harry, I _am_ a witch!" she answered with a wide smile that reached her soul and revealed a pair of large pearl-white front teeth.

"H-How do you know my name?" he asked, thoroughly confused, bemused and suddenly scared of this presence in front of him.

"Honestly Harry, how many eleven year old wizards have you seen with that distinctive mark on their foreheads?"

He immediately covered his scar with his messy black hair and dropped his face, a reaction Hermione noticed and made her regret those last words. She cringed and then wondered how to speak with the boy who had been a source of comfort for so long, someone she had wished to meet again even when all logic told her it was impossible, that it was nothing but wishful thinking. Yet now that he stood in front of her, all she had accomplished so far was to embarrass him in front of other people!

At the same time and still feeling very self-conscious, Harry struggled to regain control of himself after that wonderful smile, the same sincere gesture she had given him many years ago, and so very few people had graced him with ever since. She had been hope when life wasn't worth living, the reason he found and loved music, the face he wanted to see after being rescued from the cupboard under the stairs. But what if she found him unworthy of her friendship? Being a witch, she probably had expectations about Harry Potter that he could never fulfil!

"Did--"

"Do you--"

The two began talking together and interrupted one another. They tried again with the same result and finally decided to wait for one to start speaking first, meaning both fell silent for a few seconds instead, after which they began laughing at their own silliness. Hermione shook her head, making her mane of hair frame her face and cover her own scar in the process, while Harry continued to laugh and receive funny looks from the other three children in the compartment.

"Oy! You two know each other or something?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, "introductions are needed! Lisa Turpin, Neville Longbottom, these are Harry Potter and...?"

"This is my friend Ronald Weasley," explained Harry, "who was about to transfigure his rat before it died in its sleep!"

Everyone including Ron laughed and Harry offered a seat and sweets to Neville, Lisa and Hermione. Soon all five first year Hogwarts students had settled into a mild conversation, and Harry encouraged Ron to try his spell again, truly hoping to see a yellow rat.

"You know, Ron, that's _not_ a real spell," Hermione said while Neville and Lisa held their sides trying to hold their laughter.

"I s'pose you know one then?"

Hermione bit her lip, knowing and doing were two very different things, but if the books were correct, her movements and incantations should be close enough to cause some effect, "As a matter of fact I do!"

Harry smiled at his newest oldest friend's resolute face, but suddenly paled when confronted with the tip of her wand right over the bridge of his nose.

"Since when do you wear eyeglasses, Harry?"

"Er... Oh right! I didn't back then, did I?" he said, "A few months after, and before you ask, yeah, I've been wearing them for three years now..."

"Well, tape isn't an acceptable solution now that you're a wizard, Harry... Reparo!" she incanted, careful to follow the first clock-wise turn with the described back-hand swish and a final flick no wider than thirty degrees. Most important, as the text described, was familiarity with the object to be repaired, especially for young inexperienced witches like herself.

"Wow!" said Harry, taking the spectacles in his hand and looking them over. They were now as good as new, Harry removed the useless tape and cleaned them with his cloak, but before he could replace them on his face and thank Hermione, a group of girls rushed by the corridor screaming at the top of their lungs. Lisa opened the sliding door and peeked outside, just in time to see a pair of boys running by.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Giant flying snake, like fifty feet long! And it's eating _everyone_ inside the other car!"

"Make way and be quiet! _I'm_ a prefect!" came a pompous voice from the other end of the car, Ron heard it and warned everyone that it was his older brother named Percy. "Close the doors and stay calm, the rules clearly state that passengers are to remain seated and follow _my_ authority as prefect!"

Hermione had stiffened on the word snake, stood up and, with a toothy grin, excused herself, "I'll er... Check for something in my... Er... I-I'll be right back! Stay here!" she said and pushed Percy aside, toppling him over some agitated pupils.

Scratching the back of his head, Harry wondered if she was too brave or just foolish enough to go fight a man-eating snake. "Wait!" he said, but Hermione had already slid the compartment door and run away flapping her bushy hair. "I'm going to help her!" he told Ron, Lisa and Neville, who was already mourning the loss of Trevor, saying the toad had probably been eaten by the giant snake and his grandmother would be furious.

Hermione dodged a series of students that were peeking down the corridor to catch a glimpse of the fifty-feet-long snake, with Harry on her trail barely a few yards behind. She slowed down when reaching her carriage, tiptoed up to her compartment and bent down to find her leather bag open. "Oh no, Blacksnout!" she moaned, looking around the benches and then asking her raven if he had seen anything.

As she rose from the floor, Harry had already come up behind her, wondering what she was doing. "Is it there?" he asked.

"No..." she said mournfully and then, through the corner of her eye, she saw two red-haired boys exiting a compartment and levitating a large snake bearing the unmistakeable black and brown over yellow pattern of a boa constrictor. She ran at them, jumped and grabbed on to Blacksnout's tail, dangling her tiny feet on the air under Harry's amazed gaze.

"Blimey Harry, what's she doing?" asked Ron, who suddenly appeared by his side.

"She, er... I think she's wrestling with the flying snake?" Harry answered, noticing Neville and Lisa running towards them.

"_Let go!_" Hermione yelled at the startled boys, while hanging from the levitated reptile.

"Who are you?" they said together, releasing the spell and letting Hermione fall on the floor with the large, albeit clearly not fifty feet long snake wrapped around her shoulders.

"Hermione Granger, and who are you?"

"We're Fred..."

"...and George..."

"...we found Fangy slithering around..."

"...and decided to show it to some new friends!"

"His name's Blacksnout! And it's not nice to go around scaring first years with a snake that isn't yours!" Hermione chastised from her disadvantaged position on the floor, until Harry approached and pulled her up to her feet.

"I _told_ you your bag was moving!" Neville yelled, and the laughter than ensued prevented any further reproaches. Harry looked at the identical red-haired twins and remembered seeing them at King's Cross, he then elbowed Ron discretely so that he would introduce everyone.

"Ouch! What was that for?" the youngest present Weasley asked.

"Aren't these your brothers, Ron?" Harry gestured.

"Aw, look! Ickle Ronniekins' made some friends!" Fred, or perhaps George, said, "Did you really smuggle that huge boa inside a bag?" the other added, looking at Hermione.

Hermione blushed and patted her familiar, who was sliding down her arm, "Yeah-- I mean, _no_! I didn't... That's to say I didn't smuggle him, he was more comfortable inside a darkened environment, that's all."

"Everyone step aside, please!" someone older spoke, using her wand to close several nearby compartment doors thus effectively blocking all curious stares, "Wait a second, _that's_ the man-eating, fanged vicious winged fifty-feet-long creature?"

"Blacksnout is only four and a half feet long, doesn't fly and would never be able to swallow a human, his throat is too narrow," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

The older girl chuckled and introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Annabelle Aubrey, sixth year prefect in Hufflepuff. I'd ask who's been frightening first years with... Blacksnout was it? But that's a given," she said looking with fierce narrowed eyes at the whistling red-headed twins.

Croak, croak!

"Oy, Neville, I reckon that's your toad!" Ron said, bent over and picked the green amphibian while it leaped about and cowered against the wall, handing it to a very relieved pudgy boy. He copied Ron, whose rat was sleeping in his breast pocket, and stuffed Trevor inside his own shirt pocket, although more than half its body was left hanging out.

"Very good, Ms Aubrey, I see you've caught the culprit of this most punishable attack on pupils," the voice Harry and Hermione had already learned belonged to Percy said.

"P-Punishable?" the bushy-haired witch whispered.

"I'm sorry Percy, but it wasn't her--"

"She _must_ be reported to her future Head of House!" the Gryffindor prefect insisted.

"No, I'm not damaging a first year's reputation on account of something your brothers did!" Annabelle replied, waving at the twins who, Harry managed to see, were suspiciously picking something from their pockets.

"What? But she dared to push me!" Percy Weasley shouted with major indignation, as if such occurrence was unfathomable to him, "I'm a prefect, look at my badge!"

"Oh, snap out of it, Prefect Percy!" the twins said, "We were just..."

"...having some fun..."

"...on our first day back!"

Fsss... Bang!

"Dive!" Ron said and dropped to the floor. Hermione and Harry followed suit and looked at him, as did Neville and Lisa, before bright and noisy firecrackers flooded the corridor up and down, providing cover for George and Fred to run, and giving the children a beautiful show of colours and sparks to watch.

Bright orange, blue and golden swirls of stars rushed over their heads and Harry rolled on his back to watch the spectacle. A series of shining silver stars in the shape of giant snowflakes bounced on him and he marvelled at the fact they were actually ice-cold to the touch. "How did you know, Ron?" he asked letting go of the snowflake, it had numbed his fingers already.

"After growing up with _those_ two, you instinctively know what a bloody prank sounds like!"

"What's a prefect anyway? And how did they make your snake fly?" Harry asked, "And what are those things?" he pointed at a stray orange sparkling streamer from the twins' firecrackers. He had so many questions, everything was new and amazing, his mind was still reeling with the fact he was sharing a journey on a magical train with the girl who didn't exist but in his dreams until an hour ago, and Harry wanted to know everything he had been denied for so many years by his relatives.

Hermione stood silent for a second, "Are you serious, Harry? I mean you're the most powerful wizard in the world and you don't know about a simple _leviosa_ spell?"

He found himself embarrassed by Hermione's words again, he didn't want her to be disappointed of him and looked down at his feet, "Right, I read about it in our schoolbooks, but I'd never seen it before..."

"Yeah, Harry lives with Muggles," Ron added, "And I don't know any spells too, that's what school's for!"

"_Either_, Ron," Hermione corrected before she could stop herself. She noticed Harry's friend sneering, though, and she was quickly reminded of the way her former schoolmates treated her.

Making their way back to Harry and Ron's compartment, Hermione answered Harry's earlier questions, explaining what a prefect was and Lisa described other firecrackers she had seen at Gambol & Japes in Diagon Alley. People cowered against the walls, whispered and pointed at them as they passed by, turning Harry's already sour mood after being criticized twice by Hermione into downright irritation at being the object of stares and finger pointing. He wished he could just pop-out inside his cabin as he had done to escape Dudley when he landed on top of the school kitchens.

Mentally beating herself again for hurting Harry in front of the other witches and wizards, the only thought running by Hermione's mind was how to prove herself in front of the boy from her dreams, and compensate for her recent blunders. She had absolutely no social skills and that was blatantly obvious! Reaching their destination, she smiled at Harry's politeness as he allowed Lisa and her to enter first, holding Ron who was about to rush in anyway. Her thoughts then strayed to why would the hero of the wizarding world be raised by Muggles, and why did he know almost nothing of magic? It was quite unsettling and not what she had deduced from all the written material about him.

They were all seated when Harry watched Ron hide Scabbers away with a worried look at Blacksnout, and smirked when Neville did the same to his familiar named Trevor. He heard a small whisper and had to turn twice towards Hermione before confirming the snake had actually spoken.

"That deliciousssly fat toad wasss mine..." Blacksnout complained, "But no matter, my abaeteh isss feeding me later, yesss amigo?"

"It'sss you then, I knew I'd recognized you from sssomewhere," Harry answered with a smile.

"Harry what are you doing?" Hermione asked, thinking her poor green-eyes had lost his mind, hissing at a snake of all things.

"Didn't you hear it?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Blacksnout, he said he was chasing Neville's toad but you'd feed him later?"

"Merlin's beard!" Lisa said and quickly slid the door to a close, motioned for Neville and Ron to be quiet and shooed some curious schoolmates that were trying to get a good view of either the famous Harry Potter or the giant fifty-feet-long flying snake. "Harry, are you certain about being able to speak with the snake?"

He nodded and looked at the two girls and two two boys, expecting an explanation regarding Lisa's behaviour. Harry turned back to Hermione who had a look of confusion on her face, but suddenly she seemed to have come to a realization.

"That's--"

"Why did--"

"How ab--"

"Please let me explain this correctly," Hermione shouted over Lisa, Ron and Neville's simultaneous questions, "how much do you know about Salazar Slytherin, Harry?"

"Er... Hogwarts founder? Voldemort was in his house..." he answered looking gloomy, not caring for the shrieking and flinching around him.

"Honestly Harry, you shouldn't go around saying his name! Anyway, I've read in Hogwarts: A History that Slytherin had the freak ability of communicating in Parseltongue, which is what Blacksnout here speaks," she said while holding and petting her boa's large head, "that makes you a Parselmouth and, well, most likely a true Slytherin..."

"_What?_" Harry yelled, while the compartment swirled around him. He was unwillingly famous for surviving the murder of his family by a Slytherin dark wizard, his wand was a twin of the one used by the very man who killed his parents, and now he was being accused of having the same freakishness as the founder of the House of Slytherin, from where all wizards gone bad come from? "You're saying I'm like my parent's m-murderer?"

"No, Harry, I'm--"

"That's what you're saying, isn't it?" he interrupted, "That I'm a _freak_ and a dark wizard?"

"_Please_, that's not what--"

"I-I'm not sure I want you to be here any more, Hermione, _just leave me alone!_"

The world around Hermione fell deadly silent, her blood turned to ice and she felt her stomach sinking. She gasped while trying to find Harry's eyes, but he was avoiding her by staring outside the window. Giving up after a few tense seconds, she huffed, propped her chin to the air and countered, "_Fine!_ Don't listen to me then!" turning and running out of the compartment towards her own, clutching Blacksnout on her arms.

On her way back, she tried to stem her chaotic emotions and thoughts, feeling a pain in her chest at the fact that no more than a few minutes ago Harry and she were smiling and laughing with each other! And now, because of a need to prove her knowledge of the magical world, she had completely ruined any chance at befriending the boy she had dreamed of for so long. Of course Harry would be affronted at hearing he might be a true Slytherin, if You-Know-Who ever went to Hogwarts School he had probably been an Slytherin himself!

She continued to hear footsteps behind, probably Lisa to tell her how stupid she was for treating Harry Potter like that. But he didn't even allow her to explain herself, he was rash and impulsive, he _shouted_ at her without giving her the chance to defend her point of view! In al honesty she had failed to stand her ground and continue her explanation, storming out in a rush as she did. Soon Hermione had reached her original cabin, opened her leather bag and allowed Blacksnout to slide inside, before taking a series of deep breaths, pressing her forehead against the cold glass with a thump and staring at the afternoon skies outside, fighting the warm tears in her eyes.

"Hermione?" she heard Lisa ask, "Are you all right?"

She shook her head negatively and, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand so that Lisa wouldn't see them, turned to face the young witch. "It's all my fault actually, I'm such a fool for building castles in the air..."

"Why would you build a castle in the air?" Lisa asked after a while, genuinely puzzled.

"It's a Muggle saying, it means he's shattered my illusion of him, not being quite what I expected him to be..."

Lisa still looked confused, but Hermione let the matter rest and returned to staring out the window at the speeding scenery. She didn't even hear Neville returning but did notice the urgent whispering between him and Lisa, which she decided to ignore.

Meanwhile, Harry continued to sit silent after watching Lisa leave behind Hermione, and a very undecided Neville standing and sitting twice, while trying to hold on to his toad before he too exited the compartment. "You don't have to stay..." he said, breaking the thick fog of silent discomfort.

He saw Ron stare blankly for a few seconds, then wave him off saying "No, you're all right, you defeated You-Know-Who so it's impossible for you to be a Slytherin, besides we've got all these sweets for ourselves now! And that girl's _really_ annoying, _I can do a real spell, Ronald; how could you not know what leviosa is Harry_," he mimicked, and Harry began to feel even worse about snapping back at Hermione.

But why would she say such things, he wondered, was it because he wasn't the hero every witch and wizard thought he was? They had finally met each other again and all she could do was boss people around and tell him he was a Slytherin like Lord Voldemort? But then again he should not have asked her to leave like that, he felt ashamed of his reaction because in all honesty she couldn't have known how much the word freak hurt him, nor did he allow her to explain herself! Maybe he wasn't worthy of her friendship after all, Harry concluded with a sad look on his face. "And besides, she's not quite who I'd dreamt she'd be..."

"Hud ye ayind, Arrey?" Ron asked while chewing on another chocolate frog.

Harry decided to try his best at being friends with Ron, he had stayed with him even after all Hermione had accused him of, "Do you really mean what you said? About me not being a Slytherin?"

"Sure," Ron said with a shrug, "I'll be in Gryffindor myself, all my family's been sorted into that house, maybe you'll be too."

"Yeah, my mum and dad were Gryffindors," Harry said with a grin.

"Oy! I finally got Agrippa!"

"You've got what?"

"Who!"

"You!"

"No, I mean who," Ron replied pointing at a card with a moving picture in his hand.

"Oh, I see," Harry answered embarrassed, "who's Agrippa then?"

"Old wizard, was hunted by Muggles... Blimey, Harry, I still can't believe you've lived among them all this time."

"They're not so bad," Harry said, internally cringing at his blatant lie.

"My dad says the same thing, he works at the Ministry," explained Ron, before adding an accurate description of his father's job and obligations regarding the misuse of Muggle artefacts by placing magic on them. Harry smirked at the idea of turning cups into rats, and them imagined what it would be like to have Dudley and his friends chased by a vacuum-cleaner or being chewed by the ice-box every time they opened it to eat something! It would be for his cousin's own benefit of course, that way he could shed some excess weight.

Harry had once tinkered with the notion of exerting revenge on his relatives with all the magic he was sure to learn in school, but then his stomach turned and he could almost hear his mother chastising him for thinking such thoughts. He had slammed his schoolbook shut and stored it back inside his trunk before dropping face first on top of his new bed, under the stifling summer heat.

Brought back to the present by Ron, he listened intently to a description of some event where his father Arthur had been attacked by a tiny Muggle while doing his job. The Muggle had ran away and wasn't obliviated, yet another term Harry he was unfamiliar with. "What does obliviated mean?" he asked.

"It means you wipe the Muggle's memory, because they can't know about magic."

"But I've done what Hagrid called accidental magic for years at home!"

"Who's Hagrid?"

"Big bearded wizard, large as a wardrobe?" Harry explained, opening his arms as wide as possible.

Ron scrunched his eyes as if trying to remember, but seemed to give up. "Your family can't be obliviated if they already know you're a wizard, but a Ministry official should've visited anyway," he paused for a second, "and no, I don't know anyone named Hagrid..."

Harry was surprised for as far as he knew, no wizard had ever set foot inside his uncle's house until Hagrid tumbled the front door five weeks ago. But then he remembered Mr Griphook's words, the goblins had been unable to find him after a decade of searching, they knew only that he was alive because the blood link to his vault was still in effect, although the golden key had never been seen since. He fidgeted with it under his robes and turned to face Ron again. "What do you know of Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"That's easy," Ron said and began to upturn several wrappers and cards around the compartment, "here it is!"

A chocolate frog card bearing the moving image of a white bearded wizard wearing a hat full of crescent moons and stars behind the name Albus Dumbledore winked at him. Harry then read the text on the trading card, _Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel._

"Here's something really interesting!" Harry told Ron, "Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling," he read out loud.

"What's interesting about bowling? It's as boring as gobstones..."

"Not the bowling part, the chamber music reference!"

"Riiight..." he saw Ron eyeing him wearily, "you can start collecting the cards, Harry. Here you go, Morgana, Dumbledore, Circe... Would you mind if I keep Agrippa?"

"Take all you want," Harry said, turning to pet Hedwig and contemplate the speeding scenery outside while Ron gathered his cards. He sighed and thought of Hermione again, he wanted to tell her so many things, that he liked chamber chamber music just like Headmaster Dumbledore, how he will be sorted in Gryffindor like his parents and present her to his giant friend named Hagrid... However he had driven her away, she would never become his friend the way he had treated her. "It's all my fault," he repeated with another deep breath.

Half a train away, the object of Harry's thoughts stared at the very same scenery he did. Her compartment was now empty since Neville and Lisa had excused themselves, the first fearing for the safety of his toad, and the second saying she needed to use the lavatory. Kettle cawed a sad tone and she extended her hand absent-mindedly to stroke his glossy black feathers, when the door slid open revealing Lisa and the sixth year prefect Annabelle Aubrey.

"Hello again Ms Granger," the older girl said, "I'm just doing my rounds and wanted to see how you're doing."

"Thank you, Ms Aubrey. About before, it was my mistake for not making sure my familiar couldn't leave my clothes bag," then she asked in a tiny voice, "Am I in trouble for pushing the other prefect?"

"Who, Percy?" she laughed, "No, no, he's so full of himself he's probably forgotten about it already. Besides it wouldn't look good to report that a first year managed to push him aside!"

Hermione released a held breath and pulled her large leather bag closer, unlatching one of the belts and allowing her boa to coil on her lap. "Will I be asked to release Blacksnout?"

"No Ms Granger, as long as your familiars cause no harm they'll be allowed inside the castle," the Hufflepuff prefect said, "By the way, Lisa tells me you're Muggle-born, yet you performed a perfect reparo spell and know more about wizard history than most first years on the train?"

Encouraged by the fact Annabelle appreciated her knowledge and skills, Hermione nodded and explained how she had literally devoured the required course books and several other titles. Lisa displayed a tight-lipped smile and repeated her wager that Hermione would be sorted into Ravenclaw because of that know-it-all attitude, but even though she said it with a soft voice tone, Hermione still perceived the veiled criticism she had heard so many times before in her previous school. Ignoring Lisa's words for the moment, she turned her attention to why wizards would find it strange that a Muggle-born could cast a simple spell successfully, as if it was something unexpected of her.

"I've got to complete my rounds, good luck at the sorting!" said Annabelle, opening the door just in time for them to watch a fidgeting man wearing a purple turban on his head and expelling a very foul odour walking down the corridor. The sixth year witch turned and whispered the wizard was Mr Quirrel, their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, who claimed it was safer to arrive at the school using the Hogwarts Express. "Something to do with rogue goblins," she commented.

As the Professor continued on his way, Blacksnout suddenly arched his neck and hissed loudly, scaring Annabelle who jumped back falling on her buttocks only relaxing upon noticing the reptile's attacking stance directed at Mr Quirrel's retreating figure instead of herself. Apologizing for the scare, Hermione and Lisa helped the Prefect to her feet. "I think he didn't like the smell," she said apologetically.

The Hufflepuff prefect laughed, "I wonder what he'll do if he meets our Potions Master then!"

With that last cryptic statement, Annabelle left and Hermione sat back on the bench, watching Lisa collect her trunk and excuse herself saying she had met the Bones' daughter, a witch her father had recommended she be friendly with early in the year, because her aunt held a high position inside the Ministry for Magic. Hermione waved her goodbye and picked her copy of Hogwarts: A History, to read a little more about the Slytherin founder and his Parseltongue ability. After all, Harry was mad at her and she would apologize for it, but _first_ he would listen to her, "And listen well, even if that's the last I see of green-eyes..." she added sadly.

Towards the end of the train, the direction Professor Quirrel had taken, Harry continued to listen to his schoolmate Ron talk about the sport he now understood as Quidditch. It seemed to be quite complex, and played on flying broomsticks like the ones he had seen in Diagon Alley. There were several teams around the country, and national teams as well, much like football, which he tried to explain to Ron but he failed to understand the ball didn't move by itself.

They were looking at a trading card depicting a wizard named Barberus Bragge when a man wearing a purple cloth on his head walked by the open compartment door. Harry felt a sharp pain on his forehead for a second and watched the man stop in mid-stride, turning to face them and bowing a little forward.

"I h-h-heard a rumour that Harry Po-po-po-potter was on the tr-train," the man stuttered while staring at his scar, "I'm professor Quirrel, I'll be teaching you Def-f-f-fense Against the D-d-dark Arts."

"Pleased to meet you, professor," Harry replied politely.

"Your legend p-p-precedes you, Mr Potter, perhaps y-y-you'll be my best s-s-student this year," Quirrel added, "I m-m-must go now, there's a f-f-flying man-eating beast somewhere in the carr-carr-carriages!" he said and ran up the corridor again.

Harry's forehead was hit with another headache and he leaned on the windowpane to take comfort on the cold surface, hoping nobody else would come looking for the famous and legendary Harry Potter. All he wanted was to learn magic like his parents, and hope he could keep the pace with the other boys and girls.

The evening sun began to cast longer shadows and hide behind a tapestry of clouds, and the rhythmic rattle of the train coupled with a full stomach took its tow on Harry, whose head banged on Hedwig's cage after falling asleep. "Ouch!" he said and rubbed it, "Ron, you awake?"

"Hm, what mum..."

"Guess not," Harry said and stretched his back. He dared not exit his cabin and risk even more recognition, deciding to pick his Standard Book of Spells and look for the reparo and levitating spells. This was going to be his first ever attempt at magic with a wand! Looking for something to repair, he found nothing but the loose threads and worn-out patches on Ron's clothes.

Aiming at the tattered cloak and taking another look at the instructions, he prepared his holly and phoenix feather wand and incanted the spell, "Reptarso!"

He knew right away his pronunciation was wrong and expected nothing to happen, yet Harry blanched as one sleeve began to tear apart into neat squares with a loud ripping sound and Ron started to wake up. He cursed under his breath and looked ahead to find whatever spell was similar to the word he had spoken, resting his eyes on the explanation for the useful fabric cutting spell _retasso_, specially suited for quilting and making handkerchiefs, the book stated, and then a warning in bold letters read that unlike simple mechanical cutting or tearing, the previously studied _reparo_ spell cannot mend any cloths spliced by _retasso_.

"Oh bother!"

"Wha...?"

"I'm so sorry Ron!"

"What...?"

The ripping stopped half-way up the cloak's arm and he watched in horror as several perfectly geometric pentagonal, circular and triangular black pieces of cloth lay on the floor. Harry hid his wand behind his back and swiftly closed his book, rearing against his side of the compartment. He was thankful for having misspoken enough and used the wrong wand movements, or else Ron's entire cloak would have been turned into quilt material.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Ron?"

"My sleeve's all torn up..."

"Er... Sorry?"

"Blimey!" Ron yelled, "Mum's gonna kill me, I hadn't sliced stuff since I was six..."

"Huh?"

"I loved scissors, and I'd spent the whole day cutting parchment or fabric and rearranging it, like a puzzle?" Ron explained, "And once I got angry at my brothers and my accidental magic tore their clothes apart like this!"

Harry took a deep breath, looked at his feet and prepared to be yelled at, "I'm so sorry Ron, this is my fault, I wanted to try a reparo spell on you but it didn't work, I mean I botched up the incantation... I'm really sorry!" he said showing his wand at him.

Of all reactions he expected, including screams and maybe even a punch, laughter was the one Harry was startled at hearing. Ron had grown quite red in the face at first, but then burst laughing and waved his shredded cloak around.

"Maybe now I'll get a decent cloak!" then he pointed at Harry's wand, "That's a nice wand, I got Charlie's old one..."

"But I thought wands were made for one wizard only?"

"That's about right, but dad says it's Ollivander's talk so he can sell more wands," Ron explained with a shrug.

"I promise I'll make it up to you Ron..." Harry said apologetically.

"All right, I'm blaming you when mum asks _why_ I need a new cloak!"

"Deal!" he said, and opened his spell book to try few spells again.

"Don't! I'm not being sorted naked, leave the book alone, please Harry!"

With a frown, Harry lifted the lid of his trunk to place the book back inside, but thought better of it, "I swear I won't try any more spells on you, but I really want to learn magic!"

"Merlin!" exclaimed Ron, "We're not even _at_ the school yet!"

He ignored Ron's complaining and sat back to study from page one, as he should have done in the first place. A couple of minutes later and both boys could produce the first of many different coloured sparks and tiny flames; Ron's were red and lighter or darker red, but Harry smiled to himself after turning his initially dull, pale sparks into golden and multicoloured harmless showers of light. The flames were a bit tricky however, Harry begged his friend for forgiveness after setting the tips of his shoes on fire, but Ron had retaliated with an orange flame at his messy mop of black hair, leaving the compartment with a rather nasty smell.

They followed the textbook description on creating their our designs by waving the desired shape on the air as their twirled the wand counter-clockwise, before swishing from below their forearms, and Ron was shooting purple scissors when Neville popped his head inside, just in time to receive the full blow of Harry's G-clef shaped golden sparks on his face.

"Consider yourself tuned, Neville!" Harry pointed with a laugh.

The shy boy wiped non-existent soot and looked around, then under the seats. Ron lifted his feet so that Neville could have a better look, and then Harry asked what was he looking for.

"I forgot where my wand is, I've taken everything out of my trunk and thought maybe I had left it here?" he said apologetically, "My gran told me to keep it close to me at all times but I can't find it anywhere..."

"Oy, at least wands can't move around by themselves like your toad!"

"My goodness! Trevor!" Neville said, forgetting all about his wand and patting himself.

Harry took pity on him and turned over the hood of Neville's cloak, revealing the long and thin shape of a wand jammed inside. He picked and waved it in front of the distraught boy's eyes.

"My wand!" he shouted, "Where'd you find it?"

Ron laughed and told him it was inside his hood, then shot what he called toad shaped sparks around, though Harry found them to resemble cows more than toads. They spent the following minutes teaching Neville how to draw his own shower of sparks, but all he could accomplish where simple shooting stars fading from dull yellow to a somewhat paler yellow.

"I just don't get it, Neville," said Harry, "the movements are right and I saw you scrunching your face. That means you're thinking hard, right?"

"Well, my family had me for a Muggle until my first and only accidental magic," he explained, "my gran, who brought me up, had given up on me until my uncle Algie dropped me out of a window on the second floor. I bounced all the way to the gardens and he was so happy that he bought me my toad!"

Harry saw himself reflected in Neville, he remembered years ago when he was holding back his own pianist talents. His former teacher was a conniving lying thief, yet some of his words held enough truth by themselves. "Neville, stop it!" he said in a forceful tone.

"What?"

"Stop saying excuses!"

"But--"

"Your family is all wizards, right? You received a letter from Hogwarts and you've got a wand! You. Are. A. Wizard!" Harry stressed, "Now show me your _real_ magic or I swear I'll hex both you _and_ your toad!"

The round-faced boy was on the verge of tears, and Harry saw that even Ron was squirming back against Hedwig's cage. Neville raised his wand with a shaky hand and Harry raised his own, pointing straight forward and then swishing only slightly to make its very tip shine.

Neville's eyes hardened after a second, he flicked back and with a swirl shouted "_Kugelampagus!_", hurling a nut-sized bright ball of lightning that hit Harry square on the chest with a loud sonic boom, making him lose his balance and fall against the window, dropping his own wand in the process. Harry's head and ears hurt, but he smiled at the look on Neville's face, who was white as a sheet yet sported the widest of grins.

"Bloody hell!" cursed Ron, spitting and wiping Hedwig's feathers from his mouth and clothes, the snowy owl was still shrieking and flapping, annoyed at the loud disturbance.

"That was brilliant, Neville! All it took was the courage to stand up and prove you have magic," said Harry while rubbing his back and bending to collect his wand, "Ron and I couldn't do a spell like yours in a million years! What _was_ it, by the way?"

"M-My gran uses it against doxies at home, she breaks all the windows every time, though... It sort of came to my head and I remembered all the movements she does, and the incantation," Neville explained, "I'm sorry I hurt you Harry, you're not a-angry at me are you?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.

"You startled me, that's all, and you could've aimed somewhere else," Harry managed to say before being interrupted by a young man with a very unfriendly face sliding the door open. He was wearing robes adorned with green and silver trims, the Slytherin crest and the badge Harry now recognized as the one identifying a Hogwarts Prefect.

"What in the name of Herpo's rotting body is happening here?" he asked raising his wand, then sneered and extended a strong hand to grip and pull Harry's hair up, looking at his scarred forehead, "I should have known, Mr Harry Potter believes he's all mighty and needs to be a show-off, doesn't he? I'll report this to your Head of House as soon as you're sorted, Potter!"

Still held by the hair, Harry saw Neville tugging on the large Prefect's sleeve, who finally relented and looked down at the pudgy boy.

"I-I'm the one who did it," he said, "I cast that spell, not Harry."

"And who might you be?"

"N-Neville Longbottom, it was j-just a _kugelampagus_ spell I learned at home..." he said shaking like a leaf.

The Slytherin Prefect sneered back at him, "Longbottom, is it? Would you mind repeating that ancient jinx then? My great-grandfather used to tell stories of his old aunt Nefrinna using it on doxies," he finished with a laugh.

With the same movements, Neville repeated his incantation and produced a noticeably tinier and feebler lightning ball that sprung out of his wand in a small arch and fell to the ground with a pitiful, quite less than deafening popping sound. Harry scratched his scalp and sat back, wondering how much trouble his unwanted fame was going to bring him as the Prefect walked away, still laughing and calling Neville a brainless squib, whatever a squib was. He would have to ask Ron later about that word.

"Slytherins stink," said Harry with a frown, watching the other boys nod in agreement.

Not far away, hidden behind three large books containing ancient and modern wizard history alike, Hermione sat twirling an elegant eagle feather quill on the air, occasionally jotting down notes on parchment and copying several references to Parlselmouths. She had stopped briefly after the windows rattled with a thunder coming from the back of the carriages, but dismissed it to concentrate in her current task: How to prove Harry she meant no offence, and convince him to keep this ability under his hat.

So far, every wizard she read on that could communicate with serpents and snakes was a known dark wizard, but Hermione refused to think of Harry as a bad person. He had a short temper, that was undeniable, however he had been the first to follow her after she ran out looking for Blacksnout, believing at the time there was a flying man-eating giant beast roaming the train. It was what other witches and wizards would make of it that worried her, she had already made the mistake of concluding he was a true Slytherin, how many others would assume the worse and label him a dark wizard?

Turning to page 2,112 of the W.E.A.K. book, or Wizengamot Enquiry and Approved Knowledge, edition of nineteen eighty seven she had purchased from a reluctant Mrs Morewitt little more than a month earlier, Hermione read how _until victory was achieved by the Ministry for Magic, the conflict originated by the Dark Lord had claimed dozens of lives, his unrestricted use of Unforgivable Curses commanding many to do his bidding. The last mortal victims, James Horatio, only heir to The Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and his Muggle-born wife, fell to Unforgivables on the evening of Halloween, year 1981, as exposed in trustworthy testimony by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, survived only by infant Harry J. Potter who as previously stated suffered no injury except for a magical wound on the aforementioned infant's forehead._ She snorted at the fact the Ministry didn't consider Harry's mother to be worthy of mention by name. In fact, Hermione was quickly deducing that Mrs Morewitt's remark on the more discriminatory aspects of magical society had to do with Muggle-born wizards being considered an underclass.

Remembering the Longbottom boy's assertion that the Morewitt family was among You-Know-Who's victims, she scanned a few dozen pages forward until finding a gruesome recount of victims' names, including date, place and manner of death. Bragna Morewitt, who Hermione recognized as Miranda's late husband, had died on the 21st of April, 1977 along with Isidora Flint, ne Morewitt, her husband Petreus T. Flint and three children. "Oh no, this is horrible!" she said, "Miranda lost her entire family in one single day..."

Hermione was about to read the single footnote regarding Muggle killings when a knock on her compartment door startled her. Looking up and above the thick books, she watched two identical faces staring back at her with a mischievous look, begging for her to allow them inside.

"Can we join you..."

"...just for a little while?"

She carefully placed a series of dry-flowered bookmarks, closed her books and beckoned the Weasley twins inside. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing!" they replied together, "You, however, seem to be the bookworm-who-yelled-at-Harry Potter all of the sudden..." one twin said.

"...as well as the-girl-who-pushed-a-Prefect!" the other completed.

With a loud moan and burying her head on her hands, Hermione let a muffled complaint leave her mouth, "I'm _doomed_... I'll become the first almost-witch to be expelled while still on the Hogwarts Express!" Watching Fred and George laughing, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, "It's not funny you two, I _want_ to be in Hogwarts--"

"You're not getting expelled for pushing our twit of a brother..."

"...nor for smuggling a man-eating boa on board!"

"I didn't smuggle him!" huffed the small eleven-year-old witch, "I merely facilitated his entry to the school..."

To Hermione's annoyance, the identical red-haired boys laughed even harder after her retort. She pulled her wand and with a quarter-arch swish produced a blue coloured flame, waving it over her head and throwing it at the bench the boys were sitting in. They jumped and started slapping one another, trying to put the magical fire out with their bare hands and stomping their feet over each sibling's cloak, making her laugh at the scene.

"Honestly, you _are_ wizards, you know?" she said between laughs and holding her belly, carefully lifting the flames while drawing small left-arrows, the rune for fire, with the tip of her wand. Hermione spun her wand and the flames died, she was still hiccuping after the laughter and had to sit back, watching with amusement as George, or Fred, kept tilting his head at her as if saying "ask her" while the other replied with a silent "_you_ ask her" of his own.

"All right George, I'll ask her," Fred said after a minute, "Hermione we need your snake..."

"...and we need Harry too!" said George.

Hermione was confused, "What? Why?"

"If little Ms Turpin was telling the truth..."

"...he can talk to it," he gestured to Blacksnout who was coiled by the corner.

"_Urgh_... I'm _so_ hexing Lisa into next week!" muttered Hermione.

"So we've come up with an idea to observe..."

"...and cheer up a certain Potions Professor of ours."

"Excuse me? No, no, no and no!" Hermione said waving her hands in front of her, "I'm not lending Blacksnout as a spy, Harry doesn't want _anything_ to do with me, and I'm not getting involved in whatever insane, rule-breaking idea you've come up with, not after all I've seen you do in the past couple of hours! Actually, I should tell your Head of House about your intentions."

"Intentions aren't actions Hermione," said the Weasley twin on her right.

"You can talk to McGonagall all you want," the one on her left added, "but wouldn't you like to know how exactly does our esteemed Head of Slytherin manage to maintain his greasy style?"

"Or where he stocks his most secret, rare and select ingredients?" Fred asked, lifting his eyebrows repeatedly.

She could hardly believe herself, Hermione was actually considering their proposal after they mentioned the rare potion ingredients, but her moral compass would not be swayed unless very powerful circumstances forced her to. Selfish, plain and simple curiosity was not one of them. "No, I wouldn't..." she finally said after a minute or so.

"Right then," George commented and shrugged, "but you've got to admit my brother Fred almost got to you about finding secret ingredients, didn't he?"

They laughed and Hermione tried very hard to hide a grin, she thought the older boys were going to shout at her or call her names, but they seemed to be confident enough to know when to back down or find alternatives to their desires. She nodded and allowed herself to laugh with them, until a pang of sadness crossed her heart. Hermione would rather laugh with Harry. His memory prompted her to ask who else was aware of him being a Parselmouth, "How many people did Lisa tell about Harry's peculiarity?"

"We didn't hear it from her, it was our friend Angelina that told us..."

"...and she heard it from a Hufflepuff named Eloise who..."

"...was told by Roger Davies, a bloke from Ravenclaw..."

"...who in turn learned from a first year of the Bones family..."

"...that a Lisa Turpin had witnessed _the_ Harry Potter speaking Parseltongue!"

Hermione was stunned, "Wow, news travel really fast around here..." she said, "Would you mind keeping that information to yourselves anyway? I'd rather people didn't jump to conclusions about Harry." She failed to verbalize the fact that jumping to conclusions was exactly what Hermione had done since before meeting him, and she was going to remedy it as soon as possible.

Left alone again after the twins threw a howling firecracker shaped like a pack of wolves made of shining silver sparks up the carriages, for which she promptly and fiercely chastised them, she began to pace the compartment under Kettle's acute raven gaze. The school was bound to shun Harry for being a plausible dark wizard, and bad elements would strive to come close to him, corrupting his nave vision of the magical universe.

"He hated me for implying he could be a Slytherin," she pondered out loud, "therefore his greatest desire will be to belong to his parents' Hogwarts House, which was..." Hermione flipped to page 1,771 of the rare W.E.A.K. inquiries leather-bound volume and found the information she needed, "Gryffindor!"

She also deduced that being raised by Muggles had impaired Harry's knowledge of commonplace magic spells and charms, not to mention curses, hexes and jinxes he could easily fall victim to as well. Rolling several scrolls of notes and summaries she had created and used to study first-term Charms, Transfiguration and the ridiculously short Defence syllabus, she began to devise a plan to approach Harry and either settle things or at least put the helpful parchments in his pocket, hoping he would read them and take advantage of the condensed knowledge to level himself with the other wizards.

Inside a very popular compartment of the Hogwarts Express' last car, the green-eyed boy Hermione wanted to help was enjoying the amazing things he could do with his wand. His friend Ron had explained how useful _lumos_ was, they browsed Harry's immaculately new books and found the lesson on the light emitting spell. It was a simple incantation with no movement required, and proved very useful for shooing people peeking through the glass, as well as for finding Neville's wand, which had rolled under one of the seats.

The evening sky continued to darken, a Gryffindor Prefect had stopped by to announce one hour until arrival and Harry stowed a few sweets along with his books inside the moss-green trunk Hagrid had delivered on his birthday. He was looking forward to leaving the train, hoping to find Hermione and apologize for his reaction, as well as proving her he had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the likes of Voldemort and Slytherin dark wizards.

"Finally! I'm starving and hopefully they'll feed us before bedtime," said Ron while fishing for the last Cauldron Cakes inside the small wooden crate they came in.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him but kept his mouth shut, he was already full for a week, in fact he wondered if adding everything he had eaten today would have surpassed the amount of food he had in a regular summer with his relatives, yet Ron had devoured almost twice as much and was still hungry! "Maybe wizards eat more than regular people," Harry wondered.

Suddenly a bright green shower of maple leaves zoomed by his face and harmlessly hit the window, fading into a cascade of sparks. He turned and watched Neville grinning and jumping on his feet. "I did it! Harry I made it work!" the Longbottom boy said.

"Well done, Neville! Don't you go forgetting _how_ to do it, though!"

"Oy! Do a cactus next, Neville!" shouted Ron from behind his own trunk, he was looking between the torn sleeve on his cloak and a sweater bearing a large capital letter r emblazoned in the middle. Neville laughed after succeeding in his third attempt, throwing spiky baby-blue cactuses around the compartment.

"I-I'll go find my things now," the round faced boy said, "I guess we'll see each other around then?"

"Sure thing Neville," he answered wanting to organize his own trunk again, however Harry had to reach forward and steer him to the left when he started walking to the wrong end of the car, and Ron laughed at the distracted and forgetful boy.

Soon enough the train began to slow down, Harry started to feel nervous and agitated, but Ron didn't seem to notice and continued to ramble about the Cannons, the Quidditch team he rooted for. As the cars buckled together and negotiated a tight curve, he caught a glimpse of a medium-sized village, where all houses had their lights on, and he wondered if anyone living there knew of a magic school nearby.

They pulled on a station and the Hogwarts Express puffed a final cloud of pure white steam followed by a loud double whistle before screeching to a halt. Ron immediately exited and pulled his belongings, Harry followed and trusted his friend to know his way, hauling Hedwig and his own trunk. They stepped off the carriage and a magicked wooden cart swallowed their cargo. "Hey!" Harry shouted but Ron waved at him to let go of the handle, ending his tug of war against the magical thing that was stealing his owl.

Harry could barely see anything among the wave of students, pupils of all ages crowded the platform and, being the youngest, he was actually navigating blind. Whatever hopes of finding Hermione he had were quickly abandoned, he would have to wait until reaching the school itself, but then he heard an unmistakeable pair of voices, one high-pitched and another very deep.

"Harry!" both voices called at the same time, "Firs' years! Over here!" the louder, gruffer voice added.

He turned around to find Hermione first, who was struggling with a trunk slightly bigger than his own, a very large leather bag and a golden cage holding a big, deep-black bird of some kind. Ron wanted to drag him away however, and he was pulled by his arm towards Hagrid's booming shouts.

"C'mon Harry, we're being called!"

"That's Hagrid, Ron," he said, "let me introduce him to you!"

"Harry! How nice ter see yeh," the gigantic man shouted while holding a torch on his hand, beckoning the newest Hogwarts pupils to him.

He laughed at the slack-jawed look in Ron's face, he was arching his neck to look up, and then said, "Blimey! You said big as a wardrobe, not big as a troll!"

"Oy, who's yeh callin' a troll," a very offended Hagrid replied.

"Ron didn't mean anything by it, Hagrid, it's just that you're really tall, that's all," Harry countered. "Are you taking us to the school now?"

"Aye, just follow me ter them boats! Firs' years over here!" he repeated his call, and the group of around forty boys and girls reached a small wooden pier, where several short but wide heavily varnished teak boats waited for them. The aft on every vessel was decorated with golden filigree and a carved Hogwarts crest, while the bow narrowed fast and rose slightly up, ending in a golden dragon figurehead, from which a brass torch hung illuminating the way forward. Hagrid began to direct them in groups of six or seven, with Ron and him among the first to board, which made Harry upset because Hermione was standing by the end of the boarding queue, now relieved of her belongings and carrying her large boa around her shoulders. It seemed he wouldn't have a chance to talk to her before arriving at the school.

He held to the sides of the boat as if his life depended on it when Hagrid jumped on board, rocking the wooden vessel and almost losing one of it's occupants, who sported a very greenish complexion on his face.

"All right, every'un stay quiet, we're sailin' out!" he boomed, and the boats swiftly formed a triangle with Harry's on front, followed by three boats on each side. It was very dark by now and the stars shone above, making it hard for him to see any faces beyond his fellow sailing schoolmates.

After a couple of minutes, Hagrid steered the leading boat starboard and leaned forward to nudge him, whispering "Harry, there's Hogwarts, take a look!"

No expectations, dreams or even his fervent imagination could ever do justice to the sight greeting his eyes. High over the horizon, dominating the tranquil pitch black waters stood the most magnificent castle Harry would ever see in his life. It's numerous stone crafted towers reached for the heavens above, shining bright windows decorated every wall, corner and nook along the vast wizard-built fortress whose sprawling arms hugged the rugged Scottish Highlands terrain beyond the lake in the shape of crooked stone arched bridges and twisting halls. The castle itself floated on air, perched on impossibly steep cliffs, greeting the lucky few who were born to magic and welcomed there.

Harry wondered if his jaw would reach the cold waters overboard, shook himself a little and sat back, asking himself exactly when had he stood up. Ron pulled him to the side and asked if he was mental, rocking the boat like that, but Harry was so stunned he simply nodded without really acknowledging his friend.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" asked Hagrid while directing the tiny fleet towards a cave on the bottom of the cliffs, where fire-lit torches lined the wall, cast flickering lights over a moss-laden pier and worn-out stone steps.

The illuminated cave allowed him to look back, searching for the face he would never forget, finding Hermione slack-jawed waving her bushy hair around. She looked as if devouring every single rock, crack and ripple on the water and the walls, and Harry wondered if she had a similar reaction to his own back then, seeing the Hogwarts castle for the first time.

Once safely docked under the raw, rocky ceiling, Hagrid helped the children out and pulled everyone upstairs. He held a blonde girl who slipped on the aged and weathered steps with one of his enormous hands, and shouted for the owner of a slimy green toad when they were half-way up. Harry sighed as he witnessed Neville patting himself, and running up to the giant under the laughter of the other witches and wizards. They finally reached a wide and tall stone room and Hagrid assembled them before a huge set of oakwood doors before walking away with a wink at Harry.

He was standing next to Ron and looking around when Hermione approached, her chin high and a resolute look that made Harry proud of ever meeting her. She had Blacksnout coiled around her arms and despite the outward confidence, was actually dreading the result of this talk.

"I'm--" Harry began to say before Hermione could speak, but a series of screams and the very, very uncomfortable sensation of a ghost rushing through them deterred any further explanations or expressions of regret.

"Ewww!" she exclaimed, shivering a little and running her hands over her arms up and down.

"Yuk! _Disgusting!_" yelled Harry, looking at the retreating back of a pale translucent man.

"Terribly sorry," the ghost said with a curtsey and a flourish of his hat, before rejoining a cadre of floating beings. They were discussing the possibility of relocating one of their kind, one that by the tone used wasn't a ghost to cross, when Hermione coughed to get their attention.

"You wouldn't by chance happen to know the whereabouts of Boadicea? She used to haunt the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters, in London?"

One the white figures fluttered down, "Pleased to meet you young lady, I'm the Fat Friar," he introduced himself, "Yes, I remember Boadicea, indeed... She made me lose my kneazle familiar when I was a wee first year, at that time there were horse-drawn carriages departing from London, a full week's journey it was! You see, some elder monks at the monastery had trained that kneazle for me so I wouldn't lose my socks, but alas, I spent all my Hogwarts years walking barefooted anyway," the Friar ghost finished with a shrug, "I must go, hope to see you in Hufflepuff!"

Hermione stood there watching the ghosts breezing through the oak doors. "He didn't tell me what happened to Boadicea at all!" she moaned and looked at Ron.

"Who cares?" he said.

"She was a Briton queen, a witch probably since according the statute of the Spirit Division within the Ministry for Magic, only wizards and witches can become ghosts, _and_ she's an important figure in history given her leading role in fighting the Romans!" explained Hermione, appalled that nobody else seemed to know or care to learn about her.

The doors suddenly parted, allowing a stern looking old witch to walk towards them. She had a very piercing gaze and introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, someone Harry realized wasn't a witch to cross. Hermione however had a broad smile on her face, but fought the urge to wave at Mrs Morewitt's friend, instead following her commands and walking behind her.

They entered an enormous hall, wide enough to accommodate four rows of tables for hundreds of students plus a large table perpendicular to the four, close to the back of the hall behind a podium, where several adult wizards sat. The sides were adorned with suits of armour, strange objects and swords, placed between tall leaded glass windows depicting historic scenes of Hogwarts, reaching high up until disappearing into the vaulted ceiling, which shone with the infinite twinkling of stars as if there was no ceiling at all.

"It's enchanted to reflect the skies outside," Hermione explained, "and according to Hogwarts: A History, those are representations of the founders," she added pointing at the moving leaded glass in the first of the many tall windows, in it Harry could see a monkey-like wizard stirring a cauldron while a laughing witch danced something akin to the French Cancan, another wizard with a mane of blonde hair wrestled and rolled over the floor with a part-lion, part-eagle animal of sorts, and a second witch sat on a three legged stool twirling her wand and writing something in strange, undecipherable letters.

Harry was beginning to agree with Ron in that Hermione really was annoying in her constant lecturing, when the sorting was announced. A ragged old hat was brought to the front and placed over a stool, from were it suddenly sprung alive and, using a tear as a mouth, sang an explanatory song about the Houses in a ridiculously simple and boring three-four tempo waltz. He would need to have a chat with that hat after this.

Names were being called alphabetically by family, and he was startled to find a large boa hurled on his arms, "Here Harry! They're calling my name!" he heard Hermione say before adjusting his stance for the added weight of the wriggling snake.

"Absolutely mental, that one!" Ron said and twirled his index finger around his left temple, reinforcing his statement about Hermione.

"Ssshe wantsss to be clossse to you... You be good to my abaeteh, yesss?"

Not knowing what to do, Harry tried to ignore the snake but it coiled around his arm and slid up until levelling his beady eyes to his own green irises, as if demanding an answer. He only nodded and tried to pull Blacksnout down, dismissing the urgent whispering and finger pointing he was receiving.

In the meantime, the boa's owner was sitting on a three-legged stool with a very wide hat on her head, it covered her eyes and ears as well, cutting Hermione from the surrounding activity. She gasped as the hat began to mumble and talk to her.

"Interesting, a need to prove yourself but a strong sense of righteousness as well... A smart mind--"

"You may sort me into Gryffindor House, if you please. I've got my father's courage and that should be enough," she thought to the hat, "furthermore, I politely request that you place Harry in Gryffindor like his parents were as well!"

The hat snorted, "You shan't demand such things, for it's my job to sort you little ones. Alas, to you I will concede, cause and consequence I believe... Ponder this while walking up to... _Gryffindor!_" it yelled, announcing another addition to the rightmost table as it erupted into applause again.

Hermione stood up and replaced the hat on the wooden stool, looking twice to make sure she had seen one of the tears that doubled as eyes winking at her. So deep in thought she was, that only after taking her seat did she remember Blacksnout, raising and waving both her hands at the centre aisle trying to get Harry's attention.

The intended target however was staring at the ceiling, still ignoring the babbling snake who had taken to tell him of his brothers, all boas of course, his older sibling was a little off his rocker however, always trying to coil and squeeze his own tail, and his youngest ones were rather vicious according to Blacksnout, which is why they were taken away no sooner than a full ybakah cycle, which Harry understood as a full year in human terms. He snorted upon learning how Hermione had found the snake while it bathed under the sun, on a flower bed, no sooner than he had escaped the vanishing glass in the zoo, and Ron nudged him twice because of the finger pointing.

He looked around and saw a bushy-haired girl waving frantically at him, he still had trouble separating the Hermione from his dreams from the one standing a few dozen yards away, yet couldn't help but smile at her. Harry nodded and crouched, talking in Parseltongue to the reptile chatterbox, "Walk to... Er... Sssorry, _ssslide_ over to Hermione, ssshe's waiting for you over there."

One only needed to keep focused on the screams and leg-lifting movements to know exactly where the boa was, the cascading effect continued until Neville, who had been sorted in Gryffindor and could hardly refrain from showing his surprise, yelped in front of Hermione, at which point she dove under the table to pick it up just as Harry was being called by name for his sorting, under a tidal wave of whispering.

"Potter, Harry," called Professor McGonnagal.

Harry took his place on the stool and let the old hat cover his head to almost below his nose, skewing his eyeglasses. He was startled when a murmur sounded inside his mind, as if deciding something.

"You know, don't take this the wrong way, but that song of yours was quite boring!" he whispered back to the hat.

"Is that so, little one?" it asked, "I happen to have sorted Musidora Barkwith herself, I can thoroughly affirm that my musical talent is just as prodigious--"

He snorted and almost choked, "I'm sorry Mr Hat, but I'd like to propose a few tunes to you later, if you want..."

"_Enough_ of this, your purpose here is to be sorted into one of Hogwarts Houses, not to discuss fine musical creations. My higher inspirational art is beyond such criticism!" the hat replied in an angry tone, "Now... Much power I see, yes, you could do well in Slytherin--"

"_What?_" yelled Harry, startling Mrs McGonagall who was patiently waiting for the Sorting Hat to decide, "Absolutely not, I've already had a row about this, my mum and dad were Gryffindors, and that's where I'll be, now please shout it, Mr Hat!" Harry whispered back.

"Children these days, demanding to be sorted into this or that House, as if they could perform a better job than me! Your friend had already asked the same, albeit quite more politely. It's settled then, if you're sure of your choice, you better be a... _Gryffindor!_"

Hermione released her breath after listening to the hat shout, as did Blacksnout, whom she had been inadvertently choking while waiting for the, in her words, ragged old funny hat to decide. She almost jumped out of her seat when Harry walked to the table, under thunderous applause, but noticed his discomfort with the excessive adulation.

"Harry I--"

"Wait, before you say anything," he interrupted, looking both sides of the long table and deciding jumping was best, flipping his legs over and landing on Hermione's right side.

"Honestly Harry, I'd have waited for you to walk around!" she said, surprised at his show of impulsiveness.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you..." apologized Harry, looking down at his clasped hands, "And for asking you to leave, it's only I--"

"No Harry, I'm the one to apologize, and I know you're not a bad wizard..."

"You talked to Mr Hat about me, didn't you?"

"Mr Hat?" she asked with a grin, trying not to laugh, "Yeah, how did you know?"

"He told me a friend asked to place me in Gryffindor, it could only be you. Thanks!"

She was glad to hear his apology, she had been right about him being a good-natured boy. Harry was distracted by the sorting activity and she took the chance to slip the parchment rolls with her notes and summaries inside his pocket.

"Weasley, Ronald," Mrs McGonagall named out loud. Harry and Hermione followed the red-haired boy with their eyes as he sat and, picking the Sorting Hat with one hand, placed it over his head. "Griffindor!" it yelled mere seconds later, surprising them for it had spent quite longer discussing their future in Hogwarts.

Ron walked to the table under a regular round of applause, sat next to Harry and complained about the hat, "It asked how many more Weasleys there were, I said just my sister next year, and it dismissed me saying something about friends and fire..."

"What did it say exactly?" Hermione asked over Harry.

"Oy, are you two speaking to each other again?" asked Ron, without answering at first, "I dunno exactly what it said, didn't pay much attention..."

Watching Hermione roll her eyes and reprimand Ron for not remembering something as important as that made Harry snicker; yes she was a bossy and annoying girl, but she accepted his apology and offered one of her own, she even asked Mr Hat to place him in Gryffindor! He was looking around and patting Hermione's talkative boa on the head, who continued to ramble about the differences between frozen and live mice, as the tables fell silent. In front of the podium now stood a tall, white bearded wizard wearing half-moon spectacles, a pointy blue hat and long, flowing purple robes. He commanded an air of authority befitting of a Headmaster, scanning all the tables seemingly registering all the new faces before clearing his throat.

"A few words I would like to say before we begin our banquet. Here they are: Sap! Pelt! Curio! Twist!" the Headmaster pronounced, clapped his hands and added, "Tuck in!"

Harry shook his head at the oddity of those words, agreeing with Ron that Professor Dumbledore was both mental and off his rocker, as he so nonchalantly expressed. He had been astounded once at the amount of food offered in the musical contest where he was supposed to have performed in representation of his school, but the magically appearing plates of food surpassed that event tenfold. There were piles upon piles of delicious food along the table, and he mimicked Ron who was building a tower of lamb chops, roasted chicken legs and steaks on his plate, under Neville's disbelieving gaze.

"Our Headmaster looks familiar somehow," Hermione commented between gentle swallows of her carefully cut chicken breast.

"Ure, es un da oconate fug cods!" said Ron while chewing, which Harry managed to translate as Dumbledore being pictured in Chocolate Frog cards. Hermione thanked Harry but thought it wasn't the reason, since she had never seen such collectible card.

"No, that's not... Oh wait, I know where I--" she stopped in mid sentence and burst out laughing, remembering a certain garden gnome from the front yard of her uncles' home. Hermione regained her regular breathing and described the tiny plaster figurine her aunt had named Brian: Blue pointed cap, long white beard and half-moon spectacles, holding a bundle of tiny logs under his arm.

Harry had seen many such garden ornaments, he pictured it in his head and laughed heartily, but neither Neville nor Ron seemed to get the joke. "Garden gnomes don't wear clothes," Ron said, "I'd now, mum punishes us by working the garden and digging those pests, and it's lots of hard work too!"

"No Ron, these are small statues of gnomes wearing clothes that you _put_ in the front yard!"

"I don't get it, why would you put a statue of a dressed garden gnome there?"

Hermione looked over at Harry, they shrugged at the same time and pondered that question. Why would you place a gnome in your garden, anyway? They were interrupted by the looming presence of Professor McGonagall, who had walked down the table to stand behind Ron, Harry and Hermione. She looked straight at Neville first, then at the other three young Gryffindors, before speaking. "As you may or may not know, I'm Professor McGonagall, your Head of House. The four of you will follow me as soon as the banquet is over," she instructed, "we must discuss certain events that occurred during your train journey and were brought to my attention by Prefects on duty."

They looked at each other and their stomachs turned, Mrs McGonagall stopped in front of the Weasley twins too, probably asking them for the same since they moved forward enough to wink at Hermione and Harry. Only Ron continued to enjoy the banquet after that, not even light conversation with fellow first-year Gryffindors steered their minds away from the impending punishments.

While Hermione fretted internally about being expelled, Harry was looking at the Professors Table, trying not to laugh at the image of Headmaster Dumbledore as a gnome carrying logs that formed in his mind. The Headmaster looked straight at him for a moment, as if evaluating his reaction. Harry didn't divert his gaze, he greeted the old wizard back with a nod and a light smile instead, which Professor Dumbledore replied in kind.

Sir Nicholas, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower was introducing himself and complaining about Slytherin winning the House Cup for six years in a row, when the plates magically cleaned themselves and the food was replaced by instantly appearing puddings. Soon more announcements were made, including one regarding a Forbidden Forest which was, as the name implies, forbidden to all students at all times. Headmaster Dumbledore prepared his wand and, before excusing everyone to bed, asked the entire Great Hall to join him in singing the school song.

A golden ribbon shot out of his wand and floated high above, twisting to form the words. "Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Harry was thrilled, Hogwarts was everything he could imagine and more, it was unusual and inspiring, in here he was free to express himself; in here, Harry felt at home. The cacophony of infinite different tunes under one bewitched roof didn't stop him from joining in with his own rendition of the Coronation Ode using the Hogwarts Song words as they were drawn by the golden ribbon above.

Headmaster Dumbledore applauded as the song ended, under a rather fixed smile from the other Professors. "Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here!" he said, wiping his eyes. Harry couldn't agree more.

It was then that a proverbial light bulb went on inside Hermione's mind. She was gladly surprised again by him, this time because of his choice of tune and perfect fitting of the words into the music, which meant it was more than likely he had some form of musical training. Harry was described as Harry J. Potter in the Wizengamot Enquiry, same as the H.J. Potter from Little Whinging that was supposed to perform instead of her friend Annie Atkins, who ended playing the piano and winning third place in last May's musical contest! It couldn't be, yet it was too much of a coincidence to dismiss, and Hermione was beyond dismissing anything nowadays.

As their Head of House walked by collecting George, Fred, Neville, Harry, Ron and Hermione, she adjusted Blacksnout on her arms and leaned to whisper into his ear. "You wouldn't happen to play the piano, would you Harry?"

He turned to look at her with a very surprised look, "How'd you know?"

"And you wouldn't happen to be a former Little Whinging Primary School pupil, would you?" she asked with a warming smile.

"Yeah, that's exactly right! How... Why... Huh?"

"We could've met thrice before, Harry," said Hermione while Mrs McGonagall pulled them along several castle corridors and staircases.

"How?" he whispered back.

"Remember a little musical contest last May?"

"You were _there_?"

"And I visited your school some months earlier. My accidental magic sort of flared that day..."

"It was you!" he yelled, "You blew the windows and locked the doors?"

"Oh bother... I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah... I remember very well," said Harry, rubbing the back of his head.

The group reached a sparsely furnished room with a clean hardwood table and several neatly organized bookcases, Professor McGonagall's office was graced with a single leaded glass window on the farther wall and a couple of smaller doors on the other side, between which a series of tapestries and a bevelled glass cabinet display stood. Harry noticed the cabinet's top-most shelf was empty.

With a wave of her wand, the Head of House made six uncomfortable chairs appear in a semi-circle in front of her desk and asked them to be seated. She opened a drawer and removed a sheet of parchment. "One Gryffindor Prefect, two Slytherin Prefects and one Hufflepuff Prefect have approached me after your sorting to report several misconducts on your behalf during the journey here. Would you care to explain yourselves?" she asked, "Ms Granger if you please?"

Hermione blanched, she had been assured Percy wouldn't report her. "I-I sort of... Well, you see Mrs McGonagall, I exited Harry's compartment and accidentally pushed a Prefect out of the way..."

"Did you use magic to push Mr Weasley away?"

"Er... No ma'am," she answered, "I only pushed him with my bare hands."

"Very well, and what of scaring first-years with your _second_ familiar so far?"

Had she gone any whiter on the face, the ghost of Gryffindor would have been granted eternal company. She was about to reply when Fred and George spoke.

"That was us!"

"We borrowed the snake..."

"...for research purposes only!"

Mrs McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, "How does it qualify as research purposes, exactly?"

"For our Care of Magical Creatures class, Professor," one twin answered with a smug look.

"We wanted to evaluate reactions to imagined danger in front of inoffensive beasts?" the other added.

"That's not a valid excuse, Mr Weasley, yet it may be a plausible explanation," the older witch conceded with a deep sigh, "Mr Potter, it's been reported you tried to destroy the windows of your carriage using a spell. Is that true?"

"T-That was m-me, Professor," said Neville, "Harry dared me and I t-threw a kugelampagus at him..."

"Does Mr Potter resemble a _doxy_ to you, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville shook his head, as well as the rest of his body, and Mrs McGonagall asked him to perform the spell again.

"You shouldn't have levitated Blacksnout around anyway!" hissed Hermione at the twins while Neville tried to make his spell work, "And you shouldn't have dared him, Harry, you're better than that..."

"Oh, get off it," Ron said, "can't you stop bossing people around?"

"I'll boss whomever I see doing wrong, thank you very much!"

"Like you did with Harry?" he countered, "He threw you out, last I remember!"

"Mr Weasley! Your attention please?"

Three heads turned to face the Professor, but Mrs McGonagall pointed at Ron and asked whether he could bear witness to Mr Longbottom's actions since he couldn't repeat the effect, although his incantation and movements were correct. He nodded affirmatively and, with a sad look at the empty cabinet, the Head of House took two points from Gryffindor.

"Several Dr. Filibuster Firecrackers were fired inside the train cars as well, a product that is banned from school grounds as you're well aware," she stated with a pointed look at the Weasley twins, "however the reports only suggest your involvement, no eye witnesses have been indicated."

"Actually, Mrs McGonagall..." Hermione said, inwardly laughing at the bewildered look Fred and George sported, "I did see a series of firecrackers being shot near my compartment, yet these boys were asking for my help with a project for Care of Magical Creatures at the time," she finished with a grin while the twins released a deep breath.

"I see no further reasons to hold you here then. Please wait for Mr Percy Weasley outside, he'll escort you safely back to Gryffindor Tower," said Mrs McGonagall as she dismissed the group and handed Neville a written note in case someone asked what they were doing outside her office after hours.

Percy was already waiting for them and without delay began to march towards the tower. Fred and George took to tease their older brother while Ron tried to convince Neville that the Cannons were going to win this season, despite their repeatedly poor performance at the bottom of the table for the past twelve years in a row. Harry was telling Hermione about her familiar's brothers and how they could've actually met four times before today, since it was him who released Blacksnout from his cage.

"You made a glass vanish right there at that zoo?" asked Hermione, "This is amazing Harry, it's almost as if--"

"Ickle-little-tiny-firsties!" yelled a taunting voice from above, "Every single one I see... Is another one I pee!" the strange ghost sing-songed.

"Go away Peeves!"

"You tell 'im, Prefect Percy!" George taunted.

"Yeah, use your authority," said Fred, "show him your badge!"

Splash!

"_Peeves!_" shouted an angry and very wet Percy Weasley.

Everyone laughed until a dry and nasal voice came from the shadows beyond a corner, followed by the pale face of a man who looked straight at Harry, causing his forehead to burst into pain again. "Who do we have here, if it isn't our new... Celebrity," the man said, "and he already has a brainless group of Potterettes following him around!"

"Professor Snape, I've been asked by Professor McGonagall to escort these troublesome students from her office to our tower," explained Percy in his most businesslike tone.

"And already causing trouble as well, I could _almost_ smile..." the greasy-haired man sneered.

"Is e-everything safe, Pr-pr-professor?"

"Yes Quirrel, you can come out now, or hide wherever it is you deem safe enough to sleep..."

As the other Professor walked away, Hermione crouched next to Harry and asked if he was all right. His pain was gradually diminishing and, with a little help from Ron, was able to stand up again.

"Do you have a signed parchment from your Head of House to prove your words, Mr Weasley?"

"She handed one to Neville," explained Hermione while she motioned for him to show Professor Snape the note.

Neville however was patting himself thoroughly, as when he had lost his toad, which wasn't a good sign. He gave up after a minute, shaking his head and mumbling something akin to "Idunnowhereputit" under his breath, "I-I must h-h-have lost it somewhere..." Neville finally stuttered, in a very believable impersonation of Professor Quirrel.

"How _convenient_, five points each from Gryffindor!" shouted Professor Snape, "Now follow me, we'll have a little chat with McGonagall about this troublesome new pupil named Potter..."

Harry was thoroughly upset at being accused of something he didn't do, but was reassured by Ron that McGonagall would clear them of everything. For her part, Hermione was doubly upset at the fact Neville had lost their pass and at risking punishment yet again.

"Pssst! Amigo! Your kind really enjoysss walking, huh?" hissed Blacksnout from Hermione's shoulder where he was resting his triangular head.

Watching the Weasley twins form an indian file behind Snape and mimic his brisk walking brought a shadow of a smile to Harry's face, he bent forward a little and whispered "We've got legsss, why not ussse them?" Hermione jumped at his Parseltalking and shook her head negatively, indicating the black-robed figure of the Professor in front of them with her eyes.

"You're much too impulsive Harry..." she said, "The less people knowing you're a Parselmouth, the better!"

"Unfortunately that's part of who I am," he answered with a sad shrug, "besides, Professor Snape seems to have made up his mind about me being a troublemaker... I didn't drag any of you around the castle, and he called you brainless, Hermione!"

She smiled at him before answering, "I know that Harry, but he'll be looking for any excuse to take even more points away or punish us. George told me he's the Head of Slytherin and is always picking on them."

"But those two _are_ always causing trouble, Ron told me so!"

"Quiet!" Snape demanded and knocked on McGonagall's office door. A minute later some rustling was heard and the older witch opened the door slightly, she was wearing a very bright satin pearly-white gown and a striped red and gold nightcap over her bun.

"Severus! Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm here because Potter has convinced this lot to follow him around the castle after hours, yet as I caught them they claimed to have been authorized by you," drawled Professor Snape, "I asked them for parchment proof but, as expected, could produce none."

"I handed Mr Longbottom a signed pass, Severus."

"The stupid boy must have truly lost it then..."

McGonagall looked pointedly at Neville, before sighing, "Yes, I summoned them to my office because of several reports of misconduct inside the Hogwarts Express. Mr Weasley was supposed to have guided them safely back to their dorms."

"I met Quirrel wandering near the third floor corridor when Potter and his cadre disturbed the castle's tranquillity and suffered a humid encounter with Peeves."

"Sir, I've nev-- Ufff..." began Harry before being elbowed hard by Hermione.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and looked at the reptile over the bushy-haired girl's shoulders, "How _peculiar_, if I didn't know better I'd be inclined to believe certain... Rumours pertaining to Potter and that most unusual familiar."

"May we be excused now that our Head of House has confirmed our activities?" asked Hermione, "It's been a tiring day for us all, I believe."

Professor McGonagall agreed and, before closing her door, called for Professor Snape. "I'll be contesting those thirty-five House points you took, Severus."

"Of course you will," he sneered back, "five points from Gryffindor for losing a signed pass, Mr Longbottom!" he said, and Mrs McGonagall slammed her door with a huff. The last thing Harry heard before following the group back to their original destination was a muffled lament behind the wooden door, "Merlin, this is going to be a busy year..."

* * *

Notes:

1.- Translations:  
- "ybakah" / Indigenous Tupi-Guarani (Brazil); ybaca / sky, celestial heavens.  
- "abaeteh" / Indigenous Tupi-Guarani (Brazil); abaet / friend, honourable person.

2.- Sorry for the lack of interesting action in this extensive much-about-nothing chapter.

3.- The spells:  
- Retasso, from the Spanish word retazo, a piece of fabric.  
- Kugelampagus, from the German word Kugel, a sphere or a ball; and the Spanish word relmpago, lightning.


	7. Chapter 7: The Alchemy Between Us

**Chapter 7: The Alchemy Between Us**

Professor Snape turned left abruptly in front of a lavish marble staircase, walking away and disappearing beyond the shadows of a dark, unlit corridor with nary a look back at the seven Gryffindors who, speared by fifth year Prefect Percy Weasley, filed in the opposite direction climbing towards their own tower.

Hermione was still angry at Neville and Harry because of their carelessness. The first had cost them a second round of possible punishment by Professor McGonagall, and the latter almost proved to the Head of Slytherin that he was a Parselmouth, which would've undoubtedly increased his noticeable dislike of him.

She extended her arm and pulled back her cloak's sleeve to see the time, forgetting she had left her digital watch at home because it wouldn't work in Hogwarts. Huffing at her own mistake, even if by force of habit rather than a conscious error, she turned to the boys and asked. "Any of you know what time it is?"

"Twenty one past eleven, Ms Granger," answered Percy, "Now hurry up, please, unlike you and my dear brothers over there, I _do_ have things to do early tomorrow?"

Rolling her eyes, she waited for Harry to step up to her and took his left side, opposite to Ron who was staring at Blacksnout. "What does it eat, Hermione?" he asked.

"Toads and mice," she answered casually.

Ron yelped and clutched his chest protectively, "Keep the hissing thing away from Scabbers!"

"_He_ isn't going to eat your rat, Ronald! Besides," she leaned in conspiratorially, "Harry can ask Blacksnout to behave..."

Harry laughed at this and nodded in affirmation but Ron continued to cross his arms over his chest protectively.

"Now, remember the password or the portrait will _not_ swing open. It will be changed regularly and announced opportunely... Caput Draconis!"

Nothing happened, as the portrayed lady was snoring with her rosy face resting on her propped hand. Percy coughed twice to try and get her attention, resorting to lightly tap the frame instead. "Ahem... Caput Draconis, I said!"

"Oh dear, good evening," greeted the lady, "I must've dozed off for a second there. My constant work is quite tiresome--"

"Caput Draconis!" Percy repeated.

"I'm sorry dear, but the password was changed at eleven as the Prefect rounds ended. It seems a pass signed by your Head of House was found abandoned and a security breach was feared, hence the new password..."

"But, but... I'm a Prefect, you must let me in!"

"Absolutely not, it's my job to make sure only Gryffindors enter the Common Room, and--"

"I _am_ a Gryffindor, look at my robes!"

"No password, no entrance, young man!"

Percy was as red as his trademark hair, sputtering half-words and incoherent sounds while pacing back and forth in front of the portrait, occasionally throwing a couple of guesses. "Cauda Draconis! No? All right, Lupus Dentibus! Pullus Pennae? Oh c'mon!"

"Mr Weasley?" called Hermione, "Should I fetch Professor McGonagall?"

"No! I'm not bothering her yet again on the first day of my first term as Prefect. You six--" Percy stopped, looking around for his twin brothers but finding no sign of them, "Er... You _four_ have made me look bad enough as it is!"

"Well, isn't there a place we could sleep in, and come back here in the morning?"

Percy sighed, "Not that I know of. Now, the rules clearly state that if unable to enter a House Common Room, one is to find the... Oh well, the respective Head of House for assistance..." he finished lamely.

Harry had to mask a snort with a cough and turned to Ron, who was looking at some of the snoring wizards inhabiting the paintings on the wall. He was analysing one of the framed moving portraits, a tall and slim canvas of a wizard resting on an equally tall oak. The depicted man was resting his temple on the bark of the tree, his red beard and moustache moving slightly with every rhythmic breath.

"He looks familiar," Ron said, tilting his head slightly.

"Maybe an old relative of yours?"

"I'd reckon he could be... The hair and freckles fit."

Meanwhile, Hermione was fighting an urge to wander around and quell her need to investigate more of Hogwarts. She knew it was against the rules to be in the hallways past curfew, but the fact was that they were blocked outside their Common Room and the Prefect in charge was quite ineffective at the moment. "I don't know about you," she interrupted after turning her back to Percy and his new tirade of password guessing, "but I'm going to explore the castle."

"You can't!" Ron exclaimed, "You saw how many points Snape took away, and there was a Prefect _with_ us!"

"_Professor_ Snape's probably sleeping by now, your brothers have already disappeared to who knows where, and the portrait isn't opening... I'd rather do something productive in my free time."

Ron was gaping at her, "You're mental!" he finally said.

"Don't you want to learn all you can about the place you'll spend seven years of your life? Besides, we'll be going to ask our Head of House for the password, only we'll be taking the scenic route..." said Hermione with a grin.

For his part, Harry was excited about exploring the castle as Hermione put it. He'd never had much chance of leaving the confines of his cupboard under the stairs and had dreamt often of travelling and discovering a wider world overseas. He chuckled at the memory of opening his Geography schoolbook and picking a random country, tracing the way from his uncles' house in Surrey all the way to his fantasy destination with a pencil stub, drawing a little plane, train or ship to get there. This was an opportunity to begin such travels, wandering around Hogwarts in the company of friends, friends who didn't mind his weirdness and abnormality, who made him feel worthy of being Harry, just Harry.

"Yeah, I'll go," Harry said, "Let's go Ron, your brother's too busy arguing with the portrait to even notice us. Neville, you coming?"

"I-I'm sorry Harry, I don't want to risk getting us into any m-more trouble..."

Hermione looked at the shy boy curiously, instead of the expected fear she found disappointment in his eyes. "It's all right Neville, nobody's going to blame those lost points on you, am I right?" she asked looking pointedly at Harry and Ron.

Both boys shrugged and she pulled a reluctant Neville to his feet; she had to start anew in this wonderful magical world and one thing Hermione wouldn't forgive herself was losing the chance to make friends out of her own inaction.

"Come this way, I noticed a steeper set of stairs that surely leads to one of the tallest towers," Hermione indicated with a smile, although all three boys whined at the idea of climbing more steps. The marble pathway hugged the walls and climbed up into an arched corridor, whose vault ceiling was richly decorated in gold and silver filigree. The outer wall and its enormous cathedral windows opened to one of the castle wings and a beautiful view of the grounds, while the opposite wall was papered in paintings both large and small, barely revealing a single block of stone between the frames. Harry thought this scenery must've been very appreciated by the portrayed people and creatures, which would explain why they were all so tightly hung together.

"According to Hogwarts: A History, those hexagonal walls behind the wing housing the Great Hall are part of the first fortress the Founders built," explained Hermione as if she was an experienced tour guide leading some foreign tourists, "and because the castle itself keeps shifting and moving around, every view can be quite unique, look!"

The sky beyond the lake suddenly sparkled with a mantle of shooting stars, curving from above their heads and diving into the Forbidden Forest. The four children propped their elbows on the ancient polished windowsills and stared at it in awe for some minutes, as larger and brighter meteorites continued their final journey towards the relentless earthly attraction.

"What do you mean by the castle keeps shifting, Hermione?"

"Oh, that's why some corridors are only functional on Tuesdays, and the classrooms keep moving around too Neville, you've got to remember some points of reference, like statues and paintings, not the way itself."

"But I can barely remember in which pocket I stored my wand," he whined and patted his right side, then his left and recovered his wand. "See? I'm hopeless..."

Harry sighed and continued to look outside at the celestial sight, wondering if his own parents had spent a night or two looking out these very same windows, or whatever version of them existed back then. He'd have to ask Hagrid about the years in which James and Lily had attended Hogwarts.

"You know, I'd never heard of a Granger family before," Ron said while turning away from the show of lights, "are you wizards from the continent?"

Hermione shifted on her feet and, with a glance at Harry who had turned to face her too, shook her head, "No Ronald, my family's all Muggle."

"Really? No wizards at all?" he asked, "Blimey! We've got one of those in my family, he's an accountant but we don't talk much about it..."

"Well, it doesn't make any difference, Muggle or wizard, they're both sentient creatures and that puts us in equal footing!"

Ron shrugged, "If you say so..."

"I _do_ say so!" she stressed, and then pulled Harry by the hand, "Let's watch the meteor shower from the tower, then we'll find our way back to Professor McGonagall's quarters."

He couldn't believe she actually _wanted_ him to go with her, he was lucky enough that Ron wanted to be his friend and had stayed with him in the train when his temper and dubious ability to speak with snakes surfaced, and while Neville had actually been quite friendly as well, despite his reluctance to speak much Harry's smile was due to sharing an adventure with Hermione, the dream girl who had been nameless for so long until today.

One final flight of marble stairs ended in a pentagonal hall with simple, long and pillow adorned benches aligned to three of the walls, and a tall set of irregular doors on the wall next to the staircase they had climbed. The top of the wooden gate followed the wide arch of the engraved curvy tail of a comet, and it narrowed down into a regular sized door on the bottom, the surface also carved but with constellations and planets. Harry pulled the golden handles without hesitation, despite Hermione's plea for caution, and a rush of cold midnight wind flapped their cloaks open.

"There could've been people on the other side Harry, or something dangerous!"

"Hermione, this is a school, nothing dangerous will be waiting to attack us behind _any_ of the doors," said harry with a laugh.

"Well you should've knocked first anyway," she huffed, pulling the door wide open and walking outside, wrapping her cloak around to fight the sudden temperature change. Hermione watched Ron speed by and prop himself on the stone battlements, looking over the grounds and the Highland mountains beyond excitedly.

"Oy! Look, there's the giant squid!" he announced, pointing at a ripple on the lake's surface.

Harry had enough trouble looking at anything further than ten feet away, finding something on the vast lake was impossible no matter how hard he squinted or pressed his eyeballs. "I can't see anything, Ron..."

"There, by the middle of the Black Lake!" he pointed again, but Harry had to apologize once more. "You sure those spectacles work, Harry? When's the last time you visited a Percepticer?"

"A what?" asked Harry.

"Oh! Oh, I saw it!" Hermione jumped on both feet, "It waved a tentacle at us! Owww... How sweet!"

"Girls!" Ron said making a gagging gesture and shaking his head, "A Percepticer is the Healer that cares for eyes, tongues and stuff," he added in response to Harry's earlier question.

"Er... Never I guess, I mean these are just over the counter eyeglasses..."

Harry handed Ron his round-framed vision aid lenses, he put them on and stumbled to the side feeling dizzy. Were it not for Hermione holding tight to his torn cloak's sleeve, he'd have fallen off the tower right then and there. "Ron, watch out!" yelled Harry while pulling his friend back and relieving Hermione of Ron's weight.

"Bloody hell! That was close," Ron expressed after returning the spectacles and looking over the stone battlements, "thanks, you guys!"

"Don't curse, Ronald! And you're most welcome, you could've died from the fall, or worse yet, missed your first day of classes!"

Harry gaped at Hermione, noticing Ron was doing the same fish-out-of-water impersonation. He was trying to understand how missing the first day of classes could be worse than death when Neville exited the tall wooden doors.

"Look what I found," he said and held a cat up with both hands, Harry was about to warn him against the fleas when a fifth voice reached their ears from inside the castle.

"Who did you find, Mrs Morris? Pupils out of bed on their first night?"

"Filch!" whispered Ron.

"What's a filch?"

"The caretaker, that's what Filch is! My brothers said he's always patrolling with a mangy cat named Mrs Norris..."

"Drop the cat, Neville!" Hermione commanded, and he pushed the reluctant feline back inside, helping Harry pull the door close afterwards, blocking Mrs Norris from them.

"Now what do we do? That's the only way in or out!"

"Do whatever it is you did at my school Hermione, lock the door!"

"Harry, that was accidental magic, I've no clue as to _how_ I did th--" she paused for a second and turned to Ron, "Haven't you seen a locking spell performed at your home? I can't remember the incantation!"

The sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs were becoming louder and clearer while Ron closed his eyes and tried to remember something. "Portal... Glueportal?"

"No, it ends with portus, something like clueportus?" added Neville.

"_Colloportus!_" shouted Hermione with a series of swishes. The tall doors snapped into place and metallic clicks could be heard securing the only gate leading to the Astronomy Tower. They were now safe from the caretaker, but also locked outside the castle at one in the morning. "It worked, it worked!" she said excitedly while jumping up and down, drawing a smile on Harry's lips despite their situation.

He looked around for an alternative exit or stair and pushed a few telescopes aside, finding a strange set of golden sprockets connected to a thick vertical shaft surrounded by strange engraved scenes and symbols. Harry watched Ron and the others hanging over the battlements, trying to find a way out while loud pounding rocked the doors. Pulling his wand, he tapped several times on the square drawing of a tiny tower surrounded by a giant egg of sorts, the square glowed and the tower itself rumbled, shaking slightly before a cast iron netting began to engulf the open air around them.

"Harry? What did you do?"

"Er..." he eloquently said, still touching the glowing square with the tip of his wand. The rough metal webbing now encased the entire tower and shone bright blue for a moment, Ron was looking up at the very top where it knitted together while Neville and Hermione approached the odd golden contraption with its turning wheels and sprockets.

"I think he tapped one of these," said Neville wand in hand.

"No, don't! _Ahhh!_" Hermione screamed as the once flat and levelled stone floor gave way to a funnel beneath her. Similar openings swiped the floor off the boys' feet as Neville pressed a square branded with a little tower crossed by arrows pointing downwards.

They fell down and slid on their backs, until diving with sequential splashes in extremely cold water. They resurfaced and bumped into each other, arms flaying haphazardly around to find a way out, when a sudden, deafening gurgling noise drowned their voices. The water began to bubble and swirl, dragging them so strongly it became fruitless to swim against the current as they spun faster and faster towards the centre of the water funnel, yelling at the top of their lungs.

Harry watched in horror as his friends were sucked underwater one by one, until he couldn't keep his head above water and the pitch black cold darkness engulfed him. Seconds later he felt himself being jettisoned out through a round opening over a steep shingle roofing like rainwater out of a drainpipe, and he managed to breath again while trying to slow his descent using his hands and feet.

Regaining her breathing, Hermione held to Blacksnout with all her might, waving her legs around and using her life-long experience climbing roofs in London to break her fall and stand over one of the many dormer windows on her path, frantically looking around for Harry.

Harry, Ron and Neville however were not so experienced or as lucky. Ron slid screaming head first until his wet cloak entangled itself on an ugly boar statue, or perhaps it was the stone creature that grabbed it on its paws, breaking his fall and knocking the air out of his lungs; Neville was still screaming and sliding feet first until falling right on top of Ron, who deflated again, and was able to hold to his arms. Harry continued to slide and scratch his back until finally stopping mere inches from the edge of the tall castle roof. The abyss beyond was actually quite daunting, he took one look below over his chest and immediately pulled back on his elbows.

Releasing a long held breath once everyone was safely standing still, Hermione crouched and looked inside through the glass, pulling her wet mane up. Seeing nothing but an empty classroom, she cast an spell used to open locked doors and windows. "_Alohomora!_" she yelled at the window below her feet and then called for her schoolmates to crawl up and enter the castle quietly.

"Hurry up!"

"I-I can't move!"

"C'mon, just crawl on your elbows and knees, Ron!"

"My cloak's stuck!"

"All right... Hermione, get inside first and help Neville in, I'll go to Ron and free him."

She nodded and he began to slide sideways, looking for crevices or thicker shingles to place his feet on. Neville had managed to stand up and balance himself long enough to reach Hermione's outstretched arm, he had probably lost any fear of heights after being dropped out the window by his uncle, Harry thought with a chuckle.

"Where's a pair of scissors when you need one, eh Ron?"

His red-haired friend laughed and tugged again, but the stubborn boar wouldn't let go. They pulled and pulled to no avail, and Harry sheepishly told Ron it might be better to leave his garment behind.

"No way! My mum's gonna freak," he said, "it's my only cloak, you know?"

"Okay then, sorry about this... Retasso!" The area encircled by his wand motion began to tear and rip in neat five inch square pieces along the edge of Ron's cloak and he held on to Harry, who repeated the incantation again until the fabric split and released his friend. If he didn't know better Harry would've thought the ugly stone hog was smirking, but he turned his attention back up at the window Neville and Hermione had used to re-enter the castle. They slid several times but held firmly by their fingers to the shingles. Reaching the open window they were helped inside, panting heavily and sitting on the sparse wooden chairs of the unlit classroom.

"Do boys _ever_ think before they act?" hissed Hermione in a very Blacksnout-ish way, crossing her arms over her chest, "You two got us _flushed_ from the tower, like... Like..."

"Poop down the loo?" Ron suggested.

"Exactly! Now stay put!"

"You're the one who suggested a stroll around the castle, Hermione!" replied Harry with grin, watching her wring her cloak, open the classroom door and take a surreptitious look outside.

She turned her head ready to snarl back at him, but saw his smile and relented, sighing instead and silently accepting her responsibility for their current wet situation, "Well you shouldn't go around touching things without analysing them first, and that goes for you too, Neville!"

The alluded boy cowered in his chair, and Ron leaned forward to him, "Annoying _and_ bossy, isn't she?" Neville nodded in response, yawning widely.

"Shhh! Be quiet! I don't see Mr Filch outside, let's find our way back..."

The tired drenched children exited the classroom and walked down the corridor, which was extremely dark because of the lack of windows for the moonlight to pour in. They remembered the useful _lumos_ spell and lit their way forward, wondering where exactly had they landed. Ron had the idea of waking some portrayed wizards to ask, but Hermione was right to point that they could alert the caretaker, or worse, their Head of House. The unkempt area of the castle seemed to be in disuse, spider webs adorned every corner their wands focused the light on; doors on both sides of the walkway were dull and had accumulated dust under them.

Harry watched Hermione lead the exploring group. Neville walked right behind her, holding his wand with both hands and Ron flanked the bushy-haired girl on her left, waving his own wand and shying away from each and every net, as well as gasping every time he saw a spider.

A sudden but faint string melody assaulted his trained ears when reaching an intersection, the unmistakeable sound of a harp came from his left and Harry tilted his head to capture more of the sound. "Albinoni?" he whispered.

"Did you say something, Harry?" asked Ron, turning around and muffling a shriek after a couple of spiders tried to climb up his leg.

"Listen... Do you hear that?"

"Footsteps!" Neville said, and true to his statement hurried steps echoed from their right. They extinguished their wands and huddled together as the running approached, it was definitively more than one pair of legs. Ron squinted his eyes and saw a pair of wizards he recognized immediately.

"It's Fred and George!" he said, "Oy! Over here!"

The twins turned and lit their wands, illuminating the soaked, dirty, ragged and scratched frames of four first-year Gryffindors. "What in Merlin's name..."

"...happened to the four of you?"

"Filch's cat," said Neville.

"Tower defences," Hermione added.

"_Spiders!_" yelled Ron.

Expecting an explanation from Harry, the identical Weasley brothers looked at him but he simply shrugged and said "It was fun, the roof's really slippery when it's wet though," ending the questioning.

"We're running from Filch too," George, or maybe Fred said, he was hiding something on his back, which the other twin promptly picked and placed in his inner pocket. "Come, let's go back to the Common Room you impetuous rule-breakers!"

"We didn't break any rules," explained Hermione, "the portrait guarding Gryffindor Tower refused to open and your brother Percy didn't care to bother Mrs McGonagall so late out of fear for his Prefect status, so we were stuck outside and we went to find her ourselves."

"And...?" they asked.

"And we took a wrong turn," Harry answered, grinning at the twin's disbelieving faces.

"Where in the castle _are_ we anyway?"

"This is the third floor, you know, the _off-limits_ corridor Dumbledore announced?"

The six moved along and climbed the first staircase down the right, pausing every few minutes to listen for any felines or humans nearby. Reaching a turn on the sixth floor, one twin stopped and turned to address them. "Should we fetch McGonagall now?"

"That'll not be necessary, Mr Weasley," answered an authoritative voice from beyond the shadows of an alcove, "I believe the kind Fat Lady will be most pleased to grant you passage."

Headmaster Dumbledore stepped out of the darkened recess and towered over them. Harry ceased to breathe and heard several loud gulps and other sounds around him, including a small shriek from Hermione and the steady dripping from their sodden clothes on the stone tiles. They lowered their heads and waited for the inevitable.

"Follow me please!"

They followed the Headmaster in silence up one last floor, and found Percy almost in tears, pleading on his knees for the password before the Fat Lady. Headmaster Dumbledore coughed to get his attention and the fifth-year Prefect scrambled to his feet, fixing his ruffled hair and adjusting his glasses. "Headmaster Dumbledore, sir! Thank you for rounding up these--"

"Please forgive me for speaking first, Prefect Weasley. You did well asking your fellow Gryffindors to find your Head of House and ask for the new password as is regulation. I merely stopped them en route first, as it would be an unnecessary action," he explained. "Tempus Novus, I believe it is my kind lady," said Professor Dumbledore with a small curtsey at the blushing portrayed witch, who flung forward immediately to allow them passage.

The twins bade to enter first, with a show of lifting and waving non-existent hats at their Headmaster, followed by a trembling Neville and Ron yawning heartily. Hermione looked at the Professor out of the corner of her eyes, worried about the repercussions of tonight's nearly disastrous escapade. She decided to wait by the entrance for Harry just in case. Yet of best laid plans...

"You may explain Ms Granger how to make her way towards the first-years' dormitory, Mr Weasley," the old wizard said, dismissing Percy who still looked dumbfounded but complied nonetheless, and effectively keeping Hermione from talking with Harry until breakfast.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Yes Mr Potter?"

"I wanted to--"

"Did you _intend to meet_ your Head of House after taking an accidental wrong turn in this ancient and oh so very tricky castle?"

Harry tilted his head, he nodded with sudden understanding of the escape the Headmaster was offering, but wanted to apologize anyway, taking the blame for everything and anything. "But sir I--"

"More often than not, a journey's worth is its path, not the destination itself Mr Potter," he said with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, "I think you might find these words to be true if given enough consideration?"

"Thank you sir," Harry said and asked for permission to cross the portal into the Gryffindor Common Room. The Headmaster nodded slightly and turned away, leaving him to find Ron sprawled on top of a velvet sofa and Neville sitting in front of the roaring fire. He joined his friends and followed Percy up a set of stairs and into a bedroom where four-poster beds invited them for a well deserved night of rest.

He shed his humid garments and opened his trunk to find a wizard's nightgown he had been very reticent to ever wear, but was part of the wardrobe Madame Malkin had insisted he purchase and Hagrid had brought it along with the rest of his things for his birthday. Too tired to care for how he looked, he put the ghastly white-on-purple polka-dotted sleeping gown on and laid on the bed.

Harry considered the Headmaster's words for a minute and how they reflected undeniable truth. His past journey into music had ended in lies and robbery, and yet... And yet music filled an irreplaceable space within him, as he hoped magic would one day do the same or more. As his thoughts morphed into dreams, he found himself wearing Professor Quirrel's silly purple turban, which sang in the terrifying deep-pitched Basso Profundo range worthy of the undead Commendatore's stony presence in Don Giovanni, demanding that he transfer immediately to Slytherin, which is where his destiny lies, or suffer eternal damnation instead.

His dream self tried to remove the turban, only to find it heavier and heavier, and suddenly his former Music Teacher Mr Harper materialized in front of him, pointing and laughing at his gullibility until he shifted into the shape of hook-nosed Professor Snape, who began to laugh in a maniacal, cold, high pitch. Soon a pair of caring brown eyes he now knew were real peeked from beyond a golden veil and the laugh faded; the green flash of light that would more often than not wake him sweating and shaking barely registered in his mind as Harry turned on the comfortable bed and smiled.

The real owner of those chocolate eyes was very much awake. She had found a moderately large bed in between two others, where her trunk, bag and Kettle's empty cage could be found. A scribbled note on the golden cage read _Your avian familiar has been released for hunting._ Hermione dried Blacksnout with a clean towel and allowed him to coil around one of the wooden beams of the bed; she then slipped out of the cold, wet clothes into a witch's nightgown. Sleep didn't come however, and she resorted to sit by the window and pull her legs up, resting her forehead on the cool glass pane.

"I want to be out there," she complained to nobody in particular, sighing and remembering everything she had experienced that day. Harry wasn't the perfect friend she had created in dreams, nor was he the mythical all-powerful wizard hero. He was _more_ than that, a real boy lost in a world he didn't quite understand and yet demanded so much from him. She sighed again and hoped he didn't hate her for almost killing his friends, and him as well.

"Albinoni! That's what Harry said, and... Yes, there _was_ a very faint melody coming from somewhere," Hermione realized with a start. Of course it could be anything, a painting or even a ghost that enjoyed music in the night, but still an intriguing occurrence. Her grandfather was an avid records collector, and travelled everywhere with a stack of magnetic tapes full of recorded music; Albinoni was one of the classical music composers she had been introduced to during those yearly weeks Gregory and Felicia Granger spent in Britain with her family.

* * *

September the second had already began for seven of the many sleeping Gryffindors, yet it welcomed all others in the tower with a glorious golden orb of sunshine. The drawn curtains around Harry's bed allowed but a slither of light through, and he stretched himself heartily. He found his round-framed eyeglasses jammed underneath his back, and his wand still in the robes he shed before falling on top of the inviting mattress.

"So this is what a real bed feels like," he said, fighting the urge to jump up and down on it. His new bedroom at the Dursley's had a mattress too, but it was an old one and the springs creaked and poked him. It was an improvement nonetheless, but still _this_ wizard's bed was something else! "Oh, forget it," said Harry and he stood up, flexing his knees and taking one tentative jump, then another and the bed sprung back up to lift him higher still. He began to laugh and jump sideways too, hitting his messy-haired head on the soft velvet canopy with every bound and leap.

He was still laughing and springing when Ron poked his head through the curtains, Neville following suit on the other side. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, Harry?"

"Did you know your head keeps popping up the canopy?" asked Neville with a wide grin.

"C'mon you two..." Jump. "Haven't you ever dreamed..." Jump. "Of doing this too?" Jump.

His friends looked at each other and shrugged, taking their leather slippers off and joining Harry in his bouncing bed. It didn't take long for the other two Gryffindors to pull the curtains and ask what they were doing.

"When did the three o' yeh get here?" a boy with sandy hair and a noticeable Irish accent asked.

"Yeah, we'd thought you were coming back with McGonagall, but then it was almost midnight and you didn't show up?" added a taller dark-skinned boy.

"You're..." Jump. "Seamus and..." Jump. "Dean..." Jump. "Am I right?" Jump.

"Yes, I'm Dean Thomas," he replied while bobbing his face up and down to follow Harry's gaze, "and that's Seamus Finnigan."

The boys began to slow down and sat on the still wobbling bed, they shrugged and Ron took to answer, "We got stuck outside when the password changed without Percy's knowledge."

Dean and Seamus nodded in understanding and moved away to pick new clothes for the day, mentioning they should do the same and walk down for breakfast.

"Good, I'm starving," Ron announced, and Harry agreed immediately as his own stomach grumbled. It amazed him that the fact Hogwarts could magically provide as much food as he wanted had somehow increased his appetite instead of making him feel full, as he had expected.

On the other side of the round tower, the girls dormitory for first-years remained still and silent, save for the rhythmic light snoring coming from three curtained beds and a tiny hourly chime from a bedside clock one of the girls had placed on her table. It indicated the time as three minutes to seven in the morning.

"_Eye of newt, and toe of frog; wake up swift, you forest hog!_" yelled the enchanted alarm clock over a jumble of bells and whistles as the hour turned seven o'clock.

"Lavender!" cried the girl sleeping on Hermione's right, "Silence the stupid clock, please!"

"Hmpy datil, sur liltee..." answered the girl named Lavender. Either she was foreign, or her speech faculties had a slight early morning difficulty.

Hermione sat and rested her back on her pillow, stretching and getting ready for the day, when a pillow that didn't belong to her zoomed by her nose, landing on the bed to her left.

"Dearest Shiva! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you," apologized the girl to her right she recognized from the sorting as Parvati Patil.

"Nothing to worry about, I only--"

"When did you get back? Was that the _real_ Harry Potter? Why did Professor McGonagall drag you away? Am I asking too many questions? Never mind, I know I am... What's Harry Potter like? And what in Ganesha's name happened to your robes?!"

Hermione blinked repeatedly in a daze, she thought her days of being the object of someone's curiosity had ended after coming to Hogwarts and living away from her cousin Bernadette, but this girl was even worse! "Around two in the morning. Yes he is. Because of events in the train..." she continued to enumerate answers by lifting finger after finger in her hands, "Definitively yes. He's just a boy and... Well, we had a slight difficulty finding Professor McGonagall after the password changed. Does that answer everything?"

Parvati sat back and thought for a second, "No it doesn't! Tell us more!" she said as Lavender yawned and dragged her feet to sit next to her, waving at her to continue with one closed eye, and the other only half-open. "I'm sorry again, please forgive my manners. My name's Parvati Patil, and this is Lavender Brown."

"Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you," she replied with the same small curtsey the Patil girl used. "May I ask about your Asian descent, Parvati?"

"Patils have been wizards and spiritual guides in the Kingdom of Koshala for hundreds of years, my uncle currently holds a high position within the Indian Ministry for Magic and my mother was a Lakshmi Witch-Priestess until my father, a Court Wizard, got lucky and won her in a bingo event."

"Oh..." was Hermione's only comment. She thought it strange to win somebody at a game of chance, which proved how much she had yet to learn about wizards.

Parvati shrugged, "Father enjoys games, he almost lost my sister Padma at the poker table once, mother tells the story that we were both levitating by his side and he had ran out of Galleons, so he picked one of us and added the baby to the pot!"

Lavender laughed and Hermione snorted despite herself. "I'm an only child myself, the Browns have been here in Britain since before the Founders but my parents aren't, you know, as close-minded as other Pureblooded wizards," explained Lavender between yawns, "Where are the Grangers from? I don't recognize the name."

Hermione was feeling slightly intimidated by these family histories, she'd been the one to ask and now the same was expected of her. All she wanted was to know more of her witch room-mates, but curiosity led her into a tight spot indeed. "Well, I'm Muggle-born, no siblings either..."

"I see," Parvati said, and Lavender smiled widely, looking her over. "How is it you wear witches' robes and dragon boots then?"

After retelling part of her recent history and the relationship with Mrs Morewitt, as well as learning some useless tips on robe fashion, she followed the girls and learned to use the endless amount of taps on magical bathtubs, how to retort to scathing comments from the magical mirrors, and not to confuse the mouth and teeth cleaning potion with the nail polish.

She was pleasantly surprised at finding her clothes neatly washed, pressed and folded by the end of her bed after returning from the most satisfying bath she had ever enjoyed in her life. Hermione donned her cloak as well and looked for the damage she was sure of seeing after being flushed and almost falling off the Astronomy Tower, finding the self-repairing charms to be worth the extra Sickles after all. "Good as new!" she exclaimed and swirled it around.

Rolling her eyes at the persistent questions about Harry, she changed the subject again and exited the dormitory towards the Great Hall, casting glances around the Common Room first to see if the green-eyed boy was already awake. She was disappointed at finding no sign of him or of Ron and Neville.

"D'you _need_ to carry that thing around?" Lavender asked, pointing at the wriggling boa on her shoulders.

"Would you prefer a fluffy pink bunny?" she replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Well... Yeah!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued walking, noticing whispers and pointed fingers around her. She felt very uncomfortable and hasted her pace through the portrait hole, looking forward to breakfast and her first day of classes, but sighing when neither Parvati nor Lavender sped up to walk with her.

A very refreshed Harry with damp hair sat inspecting his clothes and scratching his head. He found a thick roll of parchment inside one of his pockets, something he hadn't noticed the night before and most certainly hadn't written himself. The script was neat yet looked hurried in some paragraphs, the many sheets contained a summary of spells and charms, even some vocal aid for incantations too difficult to pronounce and a brief history and common use for it.

Still wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, he felt his shoulder being shaken by Ron, who complained there would be no food left on the table if they didn't go soon. Harry turned his cloak over just in case any further parchment fell out of it, and pulled the curtains of his bed for some privacy while dressing himself. Holding his tie up and grinning at the fact it had turned from the dull striped grey into a red and gold pattern overnight, fumbled with it until managing an acceptable knot and slipped into his now shiny leather shoes. In fact all of his dirty, mangled and torn clothes from the evening before had appeared folded and clean as a whistle on his bed after returning from the best bath he'd ever experienced in his whole life.

So absorbed in the easy to understand list of spells he was, that he absent-mindedly followed Neville and Ron downstairs and through the round passage, without noticing the many stares and whispering on his way to the Great Hall. "This is great! There's even the odd jinx and hex you've got to worry about," Harry muttered, being steered to his left by Ron to avoid hitting his head into a wall.

He rolled the parchment and placed it back in his pocket as the group reached the large double doors, walking towards the end of the Gryffindor table where the other first years had already began filling their plates and goblets. The enchanted ceiling faithfully reproduced the mildly clouded sky and he stared in awe at the large cathedral windows, where the four Founders made of leaded glass could be seen enjoying a translucent meal of their own.

"Good morning Harry," greeted Hermione from her place to the left of Lavender and Parvati, who giggled and whispered to each other.

"Hello," he answered, sitting in front of her with Ron by his side. Neville however looked hesitant, he looked briefly at the seating arrangements and sat as far away from Hermione as possible, beyond Seamus and Dean.

"What's with him?"

Harry shrugged, "Neville must be afraid you'll snap at him, for you-know-what..."

She pouted and nodded in understanding, while dicing apples, pears and bananas on her plate. "He shouldn't have tapped it..."

"Would you give it a rest?" snapped Ron instead, "You sound like my mum!"

"Well I'm sorry for caring about our safety, Ronald!" she answered angrily, "Your mum must be as bossy and annoying as I am, then?"

Ron's ears matched the colour of his characteristic hair, and Harry wondered if his friend could do it at will. "Hermione, I think Ron didn't mean to pick on you when he said that... Right Ron?" he asked and kicked him sideways on the shin with his foot. Ron jumped on his seat and glared at Harry, but mumbled an apology anyway. "And I want to say sorry too..."

Hermione smiled widely at him and nodded enthusiastically, shaking her uncontrolled mass of brown curls around. The noise level in the Great Hall suddenly increased as dozens if not hundreds of owls began pouring through an opening above and behind the staff table. They watched them carrying parcels, letters, parchment rolls and folded newspapers too; one tiny owl swooped by their heads struggling with an spherical package twice its size, landing haphazardly on the Ravenclaw table where a boy yelled "My cauldron!" before apologizing for his owl's path of destruction.

Louder flapping made Harry crane his neck up, and he saw Hedwig approaching with a small envelope on her beak. The snowy owl landed softly on his shoulder and dropped her delivery in front of him, he patted her and she nipped his ear. "Ouch! Here, have some bacon then," Harry said while rubbing his bit earlobe.

Ron and Hermione were laughing at him when the jet-black frame belonging to Kettle soared by them, dropping a large brown barn-rat that the boa on Hermione's shoulders snatched on the air with unimaginable speed, before it even bounced on the table. A collective gasp and a double "Ewww" came from Parvati and Lavender, who promptly slid sideways a few feet further away.

"I thought you could only bring one cat, toad or owl with you," Seamus said while watching Blacksnout slide under the table with the delivery meal firmly caught between his fangs.

"That's the text from our acceptance letters indeed, but the Hogwarts Rambling Record of Regulated Rules makes no mention of familiars whatsoever, so I guess that as long as they don't cause any harm, I'll be able to keep them," Hermione explained.

"What exactly _is_ that thing," Dean asked pointing at the black bird perched on her outstretched arm.

"_He_ is a raven, and his name's Kettle."

"That's way too big to be a raven..."

Hermione shrugged and offered Kettle a piece of sausage, "He's a large raven then. Back home he brings a rat for Blacksnout every couple of days in the morning, and my guess is he'll be doing the same here."

"Mental, she's absolutely mental I tell you!" whispered Ron, who was holding his fat rat by the tail as it tried to run away. Harry saw this and leaned sideways, telling Ron that he'd ask the boa to behave and not to eat Scabbers.

"Down here Ron, show it to the snake," said Harry as he and Ron bent under the table, and he focused on the yellow boa. "Blacksssnout, promissse me you're not going to eat thisss rat?"

"Amigo, I'd sssprout legsss before touching _that_ thing anyway! It sssmellsss foul," answered the snake as it raised from the floor and focused its beady eyes on the struggling rat Ron held with both hands. Scabbers looked even more agitated than before and struggled for release until fainting on its master's hands.

"Mr Weasley and Mr Potter!" called a stern female voice from above him, interrupting his conversation, "Would you mind your table manners, please?"

They stood up quickly, Harry banging the back of his head on the edge of the long wooden table in the process. Professor McGonagall was standing behind them holding parchment sheets, of which she placed one each in front of them before handing the last ones to Seamus and Neville, then walking back to the staff table. The timetable for his classes indicated he had three-quarters of an hour left until Transfiguration at nine, then Charms at eleven, a lunch break and Potions at two o'clock in the afternoon. The remainder of the five day week had also three lessons each, all eighty eight minutes and eighty eight seconds long, shared with different Houses every day.

"Aren't you opening that letter you got, Harry?" asked Ron while climbing the stairs to retrieve their Transfiguration and Charms books.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about it..." he said and ripped open the envelope to find a short invitation by Hagrid for tea at five o'clock in his hut on the grounds. "It's from my friend Hagrid! Do you want to come visit him with me this afternoon?"

"Sure," Ron said while following a couple of older Gryffindors into the Common Room. Looking for Hermione among the many taller pupils, Harry found her talking to Neville, who was enthusiastically agreeing to something she told him. He waited for them to approach before extending the invitation for tea with Hagrid to them too.

"I'd love to, Harry. Thank you! I'm going to place Blacksnout on the windowsill of my room, he really enjoys the sun after his morning meal, and then fetch my books. Will you wait for me here?"

"Of course. We'll wait for you and then we can find our way to Transfiguration together."

Hermione traipsed the stairs feeling an emotional and intellectual roller coaster inside her. In less than twenty four hours she had plunged into a challenging new world, found the green-eyed boy from behind the glass, almost lost Harry to her nave preconceived idea of him, and risked her life and that of her friends. And yes she, Hermione Granger dork _extraordinaire_, was actually making friends!

She cuddled Blacksnout and laid him on the sun-bathed windowsill, patting his triangular scaly head, "I wish I could speak to you like he does... Did you know Harry's the one who freed you at that zoo?" she told the snake.

Opening her trunk and stuffing quills, ink, parchment and books inside her Muggle school rucksack, she ran back downstairs just in time to bump into Lavender, who grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to sit in the nearest sofa. "I've got a favour to ask you," she said without further delay, "I know that as a Muggle-born you'll understand what I need. Here, read it and then let me know?" Lavender whispered while looking around the common room, promptly smoothing her pink dress and unfolding the Hogwarts required black cloak, which she wrapped around her shoulders.

After a few confused seconds sitting still with her arm raised, Hermione came to her senses and stored the small squarely folded parchment, finally walking out the portrait hole ready to begin her most important day of school ever. Today was the day she needed prove herself, and Harry, how much of a witch she really was.

"Ready?" she asked the three boys waiting for her by the Fat Lady outside, who picked up their bags and walked behind her.

Harry was both scared and proud of the girl leading their way; she was a force that unknowingly helped him through life, giving him hope and comfort, but now he was meeting the real witch behind that smile, someone strong who spoke her mind and stood by her thoughts, who unlike his relatives and past teachers didn't hide her intentions or who she was. Hermione didn't even hide her scar, which was partially visible under the bouncing mass of brown hair.

"Professor McGonagall came to my home the day I received the Hogwarts letter. Did she visit you as well, Harry?"

"Huh? No, it was Hagrid who came to resc-- I mean to let me know about school..."

The slip of tongue didn't go unnoticed by Hermione, who narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly and began to look for words starting with that sound. Her thoughts were halted when she finally found the statue of the old wizard who loved trees so much his feet and legs had turned to roots and trunks, spending the rest of his days being watered among the sycamores of his house's backyard.

"This is it," she said pointing to an open classroom door. Inside they found a group of children, Lisa Turpin among them. "Hello Lisa," greeted Hermione before taking her by the arm to a corner of the room, "I wanted to talk with you since yesterday, regarding Harry's little herpetological trick?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we shouldn't go around telling people that he's a you-know-what!"

"Well I haven't--"

"Yes you have, Lisa," she interrupted, "and all I ask is that you avoid disclosing this any further, all right?" Hermione locked her eyes to Lisa's pale grey ones, never straying from them and silently demanded her to comply.

Displaying a rather shy behaviour similar to her first interactions on board the Hogwarts Express, Lisa looked down and nodded. "I'm sorry, I was so excited about meeting Harry Potter and I _had_ to tell Susan about it..."

"But you saw how he shouted at me because of it!"

"I know... And I'm sorry but it's Harry Potter!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "He's just like you and me, you know?"

"No he isn't, he's a Parselm--"

"_Lisa!_" she said and brought her index finger to her mouth in a be silent gesture. Hermione threw her hands to the air in defeat and let the young Ravenclaw to join her friends again, taking notice of Harry who was slightly bent in front of the professor's table, levelled eye-to-eye with a well-groomed tabby cat that sat in a very regal posture on top of the neatly arranged desk.

"I know your face... And those whiskers too," murmured Harry as he observed the cat on the main table. He couldn't quite place it but he had seen those square markings before. "Of course! At Mrs Figg's!" he remembered and wondered what that particular cat was doing here in Hogwarts of all places. Maybe it was a magical cat?

He saw a blur approach with the corner of his eye, it was Hermione who had placed her rucksack on the front-most seat and now came to watch the intriguing animal. "Do you know if magical cats exist, Hermione?"

"I've read about kneazles, they're similar to house cats but even smarter," she answered, "why Harry? Do you think this is a kneazle?"

"Yeah, not only that, it looks familiar to me. I've seen it before at a neighbour's house..."

"It does have the cutest whiskers! Owww, you're so adorable!" she cooed and pinched the cat's face with both hands.

"...and those square marks around the eyes aren't very common either," Harry continued to mumble until the bell rang, at which point most pupils made for their seats. He saw Hermione take a place in the first row and steered Neville and Ron in that direction, filling a double desk with his red-head friend right behind her and the shy pudgy boy.

They began to doubt having found the right classroom until suddenly the strikingly familiar-looking tabby cat leapt from the table, immediately changing into the figure of Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor Mrs Minerva McGonagall.

"Welcome class to your first Transfiguration lesson," she said sternly while waving her wand at the door and closing it.

"_Oh my God!_" Harry whispered and slapped his hands on his colour-drained face.

"What's wrong with you?" hissed a mortified Hermione, "I'm the one that pinched both her cheeks for Merlin's sake!"

"I er... I've done worse, I _chased_ her for about a hundred yards on the street last month, and only caught Professor McGonagall by finally grabbing and pulling her by the tail..."

"_You did what?!_" Neville, Ron and Hermione replied in unison.

Harry wanted to be buried fifty feet deep and be covered by the largest slab of stone in Hogwarts at that moment, and he was embarrassed even further as Mrs McGonagall scanned the tables, resting for a little longer on him. "Silence please!" she said, "My name is Professor McGonagall and to those who haven't already deduced this I'm able to achieve a full animal transfiguration, which in my case is the form of a domestic feline, _not_ a kneazle," she finished with a glance at Hermione.

Yes, how he wished someone could bury him right now and end his miserable humiliation. _Here lies Harry,_ he imagined his epitaph, _the boy who pulled his professor's tail and didn't live to tell the tale._

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she continued, "and the achievement of an Animagus form is the ultimate example of its mastery..."

"I pinched my professor's cheeks..." Hermione moaned softly while burying her face in the open book resting on the table.

"...and while attending my lessons there will be no talking on matters other than Transfiguration, there will be no wandering around other than to perform Transfiguration, and there will be nothing in your minds other than learning Transfiguration. Do I make myself clear?"

The combined Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students nodded and some brave children managed a choked "Yes Professor McGonagall" at her stern face after the talking-to they received. Harry and Hermione were still too embarrassed to even nod.

"Wands out, texts open at page seven," McGonagall commanded and flicked her wand to send each one a match to work with. They were supposed to turn it into a needle, following the instructions and pointers she had written on the blackboard.

Harry was terrified of the wooden match, its round red end mocking him and daring him to show some real wizard's blood. He chanced a glance around the room while Professor McGonagall offered assistance by the back of the classroom, and was somewhat relieved at finding that no classmate had yet managed to affect her or his match at all.

"I reckon my match's broken..." Ron complained while trying to begin the transfiguration process.

"It looks fine to me," Harry answered, "straight and narrow, as a match should be."

"Well that's the problem, ain't it? It's supposed be a bloody _needle_!"

"Language, Ronald!" Hermione chimed from her spot in front of them, "And you're supposed to do the flourish of your wand _towards_ the sharp end of your needle-to-be, not across!"

She broke a wide grin when Harry peeked over to watch her silvery match and exclaimed in admiration. It continued to be a very productive first lesson, albeit quite tiresome. Of all the assembled pupils only hers was resembling a needle by the end of the lesson, a bit blunt but close enough. Hermione turned briefly to check on Harry's match and while still made of wood, it was now very sharp and pointy with a dimple on its red head.

"Congratulations Harry! Your match's almost fully needle-shaped!"

Harry blushed at the praise and while he had been able to accept such compliments from his piano partner back in Little Whinging Primary School, he was still unused to being told he actually did something good and never really knew how to act upon them. "T-Thanks, it... It really means a lot, you mean a lot to me..."

It was Hermione's turn to go red in the face while Harry drew a sharp breath, realizing what he had said. She was about to answer when Professor McGonagall called for Harry and she to remain behind for a minute. They looked at Neville and Ron and asked them to wait outside and walk to Charms together later. Neville told them he was happy to do so, for he had no clue how to get there anyway.

"Mr Potter, I believe I owe you an apology," the elder witch began after taking a seat and motioning for the two very nervous children to sit as well.

"Mrs McGonagall, I'm the one who--"

"It's considered polite to wait for your elders to finish speaking first, young Mr Potter!" she stated with a frown after Harry's interruption, "As I was saying, I must apologize for intruding in your life unannounced. As you've witnessed, my Animagus form is that of a domestic feline, and as you've so delicately told your friends, you caught me by the tail last month."

Harry's eyes blurred instantly, he still recognized the professor's voice in the far background and a part of his consciousness replayed the day he arrived at Mrs Figg's holding a cat that wasn't hers, but most of his mind had been flooded by the raw fear that Mrs McGonagall had visited him in more than one occasion during his life, witnessing his not-so-happy daily existence. Most of all, he feared driving Hermione away as soon as the elder witch commented on his weakness and worthlessness.

"Harry? Harry!" whispered Hermione, who noticed him drifting away and turning very pale all of the sudden.

"Hmmm?" he asked while taking short, shallow breaths.

"By Merlin! You even share the same attention span of a hummingbird your father had, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a sigh, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I explained that it was only after Hagrid let us know he had successfully delivered your letter that curiosity took the best of me; hence our until today unilaterally known encounter."

He scratched the back of his head and stared mutely at his professor, then turned to Hermione with a plead in his eyes.

"It means Mrs McGonagall checked on you just once Harry. That day you managed to capture her, but you didn't know it until today, though," the young witch explained.

He sighed and regained some control of himself, learning she had visited him one time only was comforting and he quickly nodded to let her know it was fine with him. More than that, Harry wondered if she had truly met his father. "Did you know my father too, Professor McGonagall? Like Hagrid did?"

"Indeed. Now that this issue is behind us, please allow me to speak with both of you as Head of House. There have been persistent rumours this morning, allegedly spurred by you Ms Granger, regarding your fellow House-mate Mr Potter."

"Owww... It's never going to end, is it?" Hermione moaned while dropping her face. She was about to deny everything for Harry's protection when he blurted out a very clear and simple statement.

"Yes professor, I can speak to her pet snake, but I guess it's the snake that's weird because it's the only one I've ever talked to," he explained.

Opening her mouth to chastise him, she stopped and thought about what he said. It was a definite possibility; she hadn't considered the fact it was only _one_ snake and it would take confronting Harry with more to confirm his Parseltongue ability. Plus, it was a valid excuse to deny these rumours and push ill-intended people away from him. "Harry, that's brilliant!" she said excitedly, "Professor, I did jump to conclusions, about a great many things regarding Harry," she added with a sad tone, "and I apologized to him and will be trying to prevent any further spread of these unfounded accusations."

"Very well, it wouldn't do to have people slandering Mr Potter about him not being a true Gryffindor once the Sorting Hat made its mind," the old witch said with a very small grin. "Furthermore, I do not make the habit of interfering in the personal relationships of our students, however it does please me to see this hasn't affected the alchemy between you. Now go, you have another eighty eight minutes of lessons before lunch time today," she commanded and picked a quill, scratching away on the first of a pile of parchments.

The two children reached for the door and Harry opened it for her, letting her outside first. Hermione smiled at his politeness again as she did in the Hogwarts Express, and thanked him before adjusting her Muggle rucksack on the opposite shoulder to relieve some of the strain from the excessive weight in books and other things.

"What did McGonagall want?" Ron asked while following Hermione towards their Charms lesson. "I can't believe you Harry! Yesterday it was Dumbledore, today McGonagall again?"

"_Professor_ McGonagall called for me as well, Ronald!" said Hermione from her point position.

"And it's not like I did it on purpose..."

"Yeah, right," snorted Ron, "you're _the_ Harry Potter, who wouldn't fawn over you? I bet she was there as a cat just to know what you looked like before the school year began."

"But-- But I don't want people to fawn over me..." he replied with a defeated expression that worried Hermione. He was supposed to be someone he wasn't in a world his parent's murder had denied him and she believed him being raised by Muggles only made the problem worse.

For his part, Harry feared losing his first and only friends to not being up to their standards. He had no idea _how_ to make friends, but he knew one one when he saw it. He looked ahead and smiled at the unchanged bushy brow hair of one Hermione Granger, a friend he would never forgive himself for losing. His train of thought derailed all of the sudden and he stopped walking, realizing something.

"Hermione? Why exactly did you visit my school earlier this year?"

She started at his sudden question and turned around, under the curious gaze of her other two fellow Gryffindors. "I accompanied someone to, er... Review some things about your school's instruments," she answered truthfully, remembering they never finished the talk about him being a pianist the previous day.

"Are you by any chance related to the Granger Foundation, then?"

"Well..." And there it was. He was sure to connect her to the Foundation and then ask about her parents, and she'd have to tell him about them being dead and she'd never know if Harry was nice to her out of pity or out of true friendship. It was at times like these that she hated her uncle for using her name for the Charity Fund.

"A squib and a pauper cannot be considered good company," interrupted the pompous voice Harry associated with the blonde boy who had been so rude to Ron on the train. The Slytherin first-year had just exited the Charms classroom and approached them, flanked by two tall boys, stopping in front of Hermione and she felt somewhat relieved for not having to answer Harry's question. "However you do strike me as quite desirable companionship," Draco Malfoy said and extended his hand, introducing himself.

Hermione blinked twice and reluctantly offered her hand, stating her own name in the process.

"Father says all Purebloods must remain close, even those from other Houses and foreign lands. Which is why I asked Potter to--"

"Ha! I wondered how long it would take to meet the likes of you," she cut him off with a smug look and crossed arms. Here was the first of many who were sure to approach Harry and try to steer him to their own beliefs and befriend him for their own personal interests.

"The likes of me?"

"Yes. Prejudiced, manipulative bullies who want to use Harry for their own benefit!" she explained evenly, pointing a finger at his angled, pale face. "Besides, I'm actually Muggle-born--"

Draco took a step back and wiped his hand on his robes, as if touching Hermione had left some slime residue on it. "Useless, deceiving filth! You're not worthy of being here, and I'd be careful if I were you--"

"Do. Not. Insult. Her," growled Harry who had sprung to stand between his friend and the blond boy, despite the threatening advances of his two big escorts. The one to the left pulled his wand and waved it on Harry's face, while the other began to pat himself, probably looking for his own magical tool. "Oh, great, we've met Hogwarts' Lords of the Playground!" muttered Harry while slapping his own forehead. "I'd hoped those days were over..."

"Don't worry, Harry. They can't use magic in the hallways, it's against the rules!" Hermione whispered in his ear. She also began to doubt her decision to wear only witches' clothes, if this was the kind of people they attracted, but then again her own room-mates had also made the mistaken assumption she was a Pureblooded witch, yet were fine with her being a Muggle-born.

If only rules mattered to bullies, Harry thought while the crowd gathered around them began to increase in number. It was his first day of school and he'd almost fallen off the castle's highest tower, irritated his Head of House several times, and now was about to get involved in a fight, something he was certain would cross Professor McGonagall even further.

"Get lost, Malfoy!" Ron yelled and walked to stand next to Harry. The assembled spectators suddenly gasped collectively as Draco pulled his wand and waved it in Harry's general direction. Harry reacted and pulled his own, urgently trying to remember the protective spells he read in the parchment roll that had magically appeared inside his robes that morning. He put one feet back and assumed a comfortable stance that would allow him to protect Hermione and Ron by tackling Draco if needed.

"Good leg position, but _very_ poor wand holding," they heard from somewhere close, "and you, child, need to lose the protective guard if you ever wish to duel someone and have the space to do it!"

The shrilly voice had actually come from below their eye level, Hermione being the first to spot a short and finely dressed man that barely reached her shoulder height. He wore a tailored suit unlike the usual robes a wizard would, and was holding a copy of the first year Charms book, while sporting an appropriately sized wand in his right hand.

Draco looked disgusted for a second, then stowed his wand and simply walked away, followed by his goons and a cadre of Slytherins, while Harry stared at the small man with blatant curiosity.

"Come along, Charms lesson starts now!" the tiny wizard announced and the assembled Ravenclaws preceded the Gryffindors through the huge classroom door. He directed them to choose their seats at will and, with a flick of his wand, arranged a tower of books into a makeshift staircase he climbed. Only once reaching the very top book did he manage to watch the class over the main table. "For you Gryffindors I'm Professor Filius Flitwick. No introductions are needed for Ravenclaws," he added.

"Why not?" whispered Neville.

"Honestly, Neville. Surely because he's their Head of House! Why else would it be?" answered Hermione while rolling her eyes.

Harry tried to hide his blush because he also had the same question but didn't voice it, saving himself the embarrassment. He looked sideways and saw Ron nodding at her, which prompted him to ask for confirmation.

"Yeah, he's the Head of Ravenclaw House. And Gred and Forge say he's one of the nicest professors!"

"Gred and Forge?" asked Harry with a wide grin.

"I reckon that's easier than trying to tell them apart. Even mum gets confused sometimes, you know?"

The professor continued to introduce his subject, claiming Charms were some of the most useful bits of magic they'd learn, yet not everyone could excel in all its areas at the same time. "...and most of all, I'll teach each of you how to detect, combine and improve on these simple magicked fragments to one day do this, or whatever strikes your fancy!" he said excitedly and instantly produced his wand, following an intricate pattern and mumbling several phrases, to first animate a series of small wizard statues that sat on top of the many bookcases lining the walls of the large triangular room. They sprang to life and Professor Flitwick levitated them up to the ceiling, where the floating marble wizards began to rearrange the stone slabs one by one while colourful bubbles left the tiny wizard's wand, gluing themselves to the now dome shaped ceiling and to the high walls.

The Charms Master incanted again, this time louder and in a language that didn't resemble Latin, swishing his wand widely around the room, which shone brightly purple for a few seconds. As the blinding light faded, the pupils looked up in awe at the scenery above and around them.

"Oh! That's how they do the ceiling of the Great Hall then... Wait, large cauldrons, golden monoliths and menhirs, silver wheels and runes... It's Dagdaunon!" shouted Hermione while jumping on her seat, "Harry, we're at the real Stonehenge, to use a Muggle site related to druid magic as an example! Of course the High Druid at Stonehenge was actually a wizard until the Act of Secrecy was signed, but this... This is amazing!"

"Very good deduction, Miss?"

"Granger sir, Hermione Granger."

"Two points to Gryffindor it is! Now, who can tell me the importance of Dagdaunon?"

As Harry expected, it was Hermione who raised her hand again, while all others still watched the amazing temple and the sprawling fields and hills around them. Professor Flitwick pointed at her from a cushion he had made magically appear on top of his table, and she prepared to reply.

"Charms, sir. Dagdaunon was the birthplace of many charming spells that were simply adapted to wands and more modern languages after they were introduced to the Isles in the last two millennia."

"Such as?" the eager professor asked with a raised chin, searching the room.

"The summoning charms?" asked a Ravenclaw boy. "Conjuration!" Lisa Turpin added, and Hermione nodded at her. "And the levitating charms, like wingardium leviosa," the bushy-haired Gryffindor exemplified, under their professor's applause.

"Very good! Four points to Ravenclaw, and another two to Gryffindor. Now please state your names so I can place your faces," asked the tiny professor and the real lesson began. It surprised Harry that his friend was so knowledgeable on all things magical, and he moved forward to ask her how she knew so much.

"I've been close with a witch for quite some time and didn't realize it. She helped me visit Diagon Alley after my Hogwarts letter arrived and explained _many_ things about this world! She owns a bookshop, and I've bought my books in her shop... Did you visit Diagon Alley? I met _goblins_ there! And then we went for my wand and... And I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Harry laughed, nodded and sat back on his chair to continue paying attention to Professor Flitwick. He remembered his own encounter with goblins and fingered his golden key, wondering if the man in front of him wasn't actually a goblin in disguise.

The lesson progressed but he couldn't concentrate. He watched Hermione levitate the feather they were working on before anyone else, and discerned some kids mocking her for it, but luckily not loud enough for her to listen. He tried the wingardium leviosa spell again and managed to make his fluffy feather float haphazardly over his desk, but without any control over its flightpath.

Exactly eighty eight minutes and eighty eight seconds after the initial bell, the magical chime signalled the end of the lesson and Professor Flitwick dismissed them, but not before asking for Hermione, Ron and Harry to remain behind for a minute.

"Fighting and using magic in the hallways are punishable offences," the professor told them without preamble after all the other pupils had left, "and I'm thankful for having exited the classroom before your discussion with Mr Malfoy and his friends escalated."

"I'm sorry Professor Flitwick, he threatened her and, well, she means a lot to me," Harry explained, "and I'm sorry for dragging you into this, Ron. It's because of me that Malfoy keeps insulting you..."

Ron shrugged and simply stated he'd fight a Malfoy any day of the week. "Professor, why did you tell Harry he had poor wand handling?" Harry heard the red-headed ask, failing to notice Hermione's profuse blushing since his previous statement; she wanted to tell him how much he meant to her as well, but couldn't get herself to do it.

"Ah... Well, you've displayed good instincts Mr Potter, as did you Mr Weasley, but you must learn to hold your wand correctly. A duel is _not_ a measurement of sheer size and magical strength, rather of opposing powers," the Charms Master explained while resting on his cushion, "and the most overlooked power of all is that of a prepared state of mind."

"I-I don't understand, sir."

"Why did you turn sideways when facing your opponent, Mr Potter?"

Harry dropped his face for a second and stuttered his reply, "B-because I knew I couldn't defeat him, and I'd tackle Malfoy before he could hurt Ron or Hermione..."

"That's called preparation, you anticipated several outcomes and were ready for them. Mr Weasley also did the right thing by standing close to you but leaving you enough space to manoeuvre around!" Professor Flitwick suddenly sighed and a flash of sadness crossed his eyes, before leaping off his desk and looking up at Harry. "While fighting is _never_ commendable, sometimes it becomes unavoidable."

They were pushed outside by their professor and told to eat a thorough lunch, something Ron thanked profusely, and Harry joined him while Hermione left towards Gryffindor Tower to fetch her books for the evening lesson. They agreed to meet in the Great Hall and the two boys quickly found their way to their House table, where Dean, Seamus and Neville already sat.

"D'you know what commendable means, Ron?" asked Harry as they seated.

"Acceptable, maybe?" he answered, "I dunno for sure..."

"Worthy of high praise," a girl across from them answered, "That's what commendable means. Why?"

Harry looked at her and said "Thanks, it's just something Mr Flitwick told me. I'm Harry, by the way."

"Of course you are! My name's Parvati Patil, and this is Lavender Brown," she introduced and turned to whisper something with her friend, giggling at the same time.

"What'd he want with yeh? You're very popular with the professors, sure looks like it," said Seamus while taking a cinnamon roll from the basket in front of Neville and going over Dean's full plate.

"He took it on us for fighting Malfoy..."

"For _almost_ fighting with him," Hermione said from behind them, and Harry turned to see her panting and holding an even more heavy loaded rucksack than she had this morning. He followed her as she walked around the long table to sit in front of him, placing her things on the floor and carefully choosing her food.

"How'd you come back so quick?"

She shrugged and said "I ran," before inspecting a cinnamon roll Dean indicated as the best he'd ever had. Hermione didn't like the shape of that particular baked item and returned it, untouched since she had used a cloth napkin to handle it first.

"Professor Flitwick was right, on both accounts," she said and inspected a crystal pitcher of pumpkin juice, swirling it with both hands before pouring some in her goblet.

"About not duelling unless unavoidable, and the fact you two had good instincts. It goes without saying that I was pretty much helpless..." Hermione added lamely, almost in shame.

"That's because you're a girl," Ron said as if it was common knowledge.

"And what's _that_ have to do with anything?"

"That girls suck and could never defend themselves, that's what!"

Hermione felt her blood boil, Ronald Weasley had just stepped on one of her admittedly _many_ issues. "Are you suggesting that because of my gender, I'm inherently inferior to you?!"

"Sure... Whatever you say--"

"Whatever I say?" Hermione stood up and smashed her goblet heavily on the table, "I'm a girl and therefore incapable of carrying a meaningful discussion either, is that it?"

Harry winced at the angry look in her face, and tried to concentrate on his meal, although he had suddenly lost his appetite. He had enough experience with anger, but this was different. This time he was faced with anger among people he liked, that he wanted to be friends with.

"Oh shut it, you're just a know-it-all dork! _I know this too, professor_," Ron mimicked, and Harry finally had enough. He stood up too and added a piece of his mind.

"Don't insult her, Ron! She's j-just the way she is, like I'm just the way I am... And I'm sorry, b-but I don't want friends who fight like this..."

"Fine, then it's her or me!"

He felt his throat constrict and shut his eyelids tightly. Choose? He could never choose, somewhere deep inside he began to believe a life without friends was simpler and easier, until he remembered something. Harry sighed and adjusted his spectacles, "Ron, you're thinking in absolutes and that's no good."

"What's an ad-salute?"

"It just means that I don't have to choose a friend, I want you _both_ as friends... But you know what, I guess I'm just not worthy of it anyway, _just stay away from me!_" he shouted and walked away, carrying his books and exiting the Great Hall under much pointing and murmuring coming from the tables.

"Now look what you've done!" Hermione hissed at Ron.

"Me?!"

She huffed and sat back, pulling her overstuffed rucksack closer and smoothing her robes, "Let's just finish lunch and then walk to the dungeons. I only hope Harry finds his way there before our Potions lesson actually starts."

The boy that Hermione was concerned about found himself wandering the castle aimlessly, climbing stairs and turning random corners, paying no attention to the talking portraits or to the people around him until he ran head-first into an archway that was actually a wall masquerading as such.

"Ouch! Stupid wall," he said rubbing his forehead, "Stupid me..."

Yes, stupid him, he thought again and slumped against the welcoming dark, small space provided by an alcove on the opposite side of the corridor. He slid to the floor and picked the wand he still had mixed feelings about, it being so similar to the one that was used to kill his parents.

"But are they truly dead? Or am I trusting some grown-up's words and being made a fool again?" What if they never loved him at all, and just abandoned him with his horrible aunt Petunia Dorothea? And just as quickly as those doubts materialized, they were replaced by deep feelings of shame and regret, making Harry bury his face in his hands and drop his wand.

"I don't know what to do..." he mumbled, understanding he had just walked out on his friends, walked out on her, the girl who wasn't entirely his equal after all. She had a loving family that supported her in coming to Hogwarts, she had friends and even a witch friend who told her everything about this world! Of course her annoying habits and showing-off as the best in class made her easy target for teasing, but he rather admired the fact she was so good at magic; or at the very least better than anyone at Charms and Transfiguration.

And why couldn't Ron accept Hermione the way she was? Ron had agreed to be friends with him even though he had freaked him out by saying Voldemort's name and by being a Parselmouth and an ignorant in all things magical. "Why's everything so complicated? I'm the freak, the hero, the troublemaker... Never just me!" he explained to nobody and laughed sarcastically. "And I've truly ruined any chances at friendship now..."

"Why ssso sssad, amigo?"

Harry looked around and found the yellow belly of Hermione's snake hanging from the outstretched elbow of a wizard's statue pointing a wand at himself. The plaque read _Cassian A. Million, invented the Disillusionment Charm. Was never found again after that day._

"Never mind," he answered in plain English, not bothering to concentrate on the snake language. He picked his wand from the floor, fumbled with his books and then reached for Blacksnout, who slid down his arm. Harry wished he had a piano to play on right now, for a melancholic and sorrowful tune would be great for releasing all the frustration he felt about himself.

After walking a few yards to his right, he soon realized it wasn't the way from which he came and turned around, only to stop and turn around again to look for his round-framed eyeglasses. Yes, how he needed a keyboard to play on and forget how stupid and worthless he felt, dumb enough to drive friends away and even forget to put his own glasses back on. The boa slithered around Harry's shoulders and he resorted to ask it for directions.

"Which way to the dungeonsss in the lowessst levelsss of the cassstle?"

Blacksnout flicked his tongue in and out before declaring colder, more stale air was coming from the northern end of the corridor, meaning Harry had actually started to walk in the right direction the first time. He sped up and reached a turn hastily, dismissing the suddenly appearing door on the wall for another trick of the ancient Hogwarts Castle.

At the same time in the dungeons, a group of children bearing Gryffindor and Ravenclaw colours assembled themselves in front of a peeling, mouldy wooden door between stone pillars, facing a rather gloomy tapestry of three very ugly old hags working over a large round-bottomed cauldron, using human femurs for spoons and skulls for goblets. Hermione spared a glance at the hags and they cackled, making her turn and cross her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Where _is_ he?" she murmured to herself, looking up and down the poorly lit corridor. She stood alone while Ron talked to Seamus and Dean, Neville was slumped against one of the pillars patting himself and checking for his Potions equipment, and the girls Lavender and Parvati gossiped heartily with the first year Ravenclaw witches, occasionally pointing at her.

A screeching door sounded simultaneously with the magical chime of two o'clock, and she saw the Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape, if memory served her right, half shrouded in shadows waving his wand at the desks. The classroom was even gloomier than the area outside, with bare walls and a simple, black chalkboard to the side of a plain table in the centre of a heightened stand from were the professor could clearly monitor his pupils.

Perpendicular to the double desks stood a row of cabinets filled with flasks, stoppers, basins and boxes made of crystal, wood, stone or metal. The moment Hermione walked by them a smell that reminded her of the apothecary in Diagon Alley assaulted her nostrils, and she made short task of finding the front most seat, pulling her cauldron and assorted books from her rucksack.

"Quick, you lazy dunderheads!" Professor Snape yelled and waved his wand at the doors, closing them and pushing an unfortunate straggling Ravenclaw inside, who landed on his knees.

Hermione noticed the pale, angry-looking professor scanning the room, looking for something in particular until he rested on her. She tried to hold her gaze but failed to do so, simply looking down at the book she had opened on page five, containing the instructions to their first attempt at brewing a potion.

"Did I instruct you to place your cauldrons on the table, or to open your books?" he asked in his now clearly characteristic drawling voice.

Closing her book immediately, she also removed the cauldron and cleared her table, just when Professor Snape instructed them to "show some intelligence" and place their working material on table, opening the course book to page five. She noticed a smirk on the man's lips when she huffed and replaced the things she had already put once on her desk.

"I had prepared an introduction speech that _might_ have been partially understood by some of the less appalling dimwits among you. However since a certain someone has decided to grace us with the pleasure of his non-assistance, I'll make this short. Potions are a subtle science and an exact art few can grasp, and even fewer can properly master their precious liquid power. You _will_ do as I say inside this classroom if you expect to survive, otherwise I shall not be responsible for any loss of limbs, or worse..."

The assembled children gulped in unison and after a few seconds in which Professor Snape seemed to be, well somewhat concerned for something, Hermione watched him turn his gaze from the door and swirl his black robes around, slamming his wand on the blackboard's frame making a series of instructions appear. He said nothing further other than mutter unintelligibly while igniting a magical fire underneath each and very cauldron, starting with the furthermost desks.

"Why did you start your own fire, you mindless girl?" Professor Snape asked as he reached the first row from the back, "Or is it that Potterettes have even less wits without their leader around?"

Swallowing a bitter remark that threatened to escape her lips, Hermione gritted her teeth and attempted a level-headed reply, "Sir, the Boils-Be-Bygones potion calls for mild--"

"Wrong! Five points from Gryffindor!" he barked, "You will do as _I_ say in this classroom, _not_ the other way around!"

Shrinking into her seat even further, she extinguished the fire and waited for further instructions. Hermione continued to ignore the snickering behind her and clenched her jaw to keep it steady while concentrating on the flames produced by the Potions Master. They were exactly the same as the ones she had produced, only with slightly greener hues.

Professor Snape straightened up and was headed for his table when someone knocked softly on the classroom door. His lips twisted into a shadow of a smile and he waved his wand, pulling the old doors wide open with a bang against the bare stone walls.

"Er... May I come in, sir?"

"Certainly, after all, we wouldn't want to spoil your grand entrance, would we, Mr Potter?" Professor Snape asked sarcastically, "Ten points from Gryffindor for arriving late!"

There stood Harry, out of breath and clutching books to his chest, trying to gain entrance to the classroom with a snake coiled around his shoulders.

"Five points taken for bringing your familiar to class!"

Harry gulped loudly and took a step back.

"Another five points for interrupting the lesson!"

The young boy took one more step backwards, "But sir I--"

"And five more points for failing to bring the required material to class!"

"I've got my book right here--"

"Ah yes, but _where_ might your cauldron be?"

Harry dropped his face and berated himself for forgetting to pick his cauldron and ingredients box, "Stupid, stupid me..."

"Well?" the professor asked with a smirk.

"It's i-in my room, sir..."

"Get in, sit, and be quiet," Professor Snape commanded. He then levitated a rusty old cauldron next to Hermione's and addressed Harry again. "No, not there. Front row for you, right next to the eager Potterette, and the final result will be sampled by the two dimwits behind you."

Turning to see who was sitting behind him, he saw Neville and Ron looking back at him with wide-open fearful eyes.

"Harry, where have you been? And where did you find--"

"Silence!" Professor Snape demanded straight to their faces, and Blacksnout hissed at him baring his fangs, jolting and pushing him back. The pale man quickly recovered however, telling Harry to "control that beast if he wished to avoid detention" and forbidding them from fetching any further ingredients from the student cupboards as punishment.

After cutting and dicing plants and insects, as well as stirring the concoction for a few minutes, Hermione finally spoke again. "I don't have enough Belladonna leaves but if we cut them into slightly larger pieces, and then use fewer beetle eyes while adding more Billiwig stings, the potion _might_ work even better in the end," she explained to Harry who simply nodded and went along with her idea. "And I think it will please our professor to see we worked out a solution to our ingredients shortage!"

Harry looked at her as if she was insane, if anything the Potions professor had shown nothing but hatred and displeasure at their very existence, nothing they did could change that. He continued to follow the instructions on the blackboard and take surreptitious glances at his desk partner, finally gathering the courage to risk the question, "A-aren't you mad at me?"

Hermione snapped her face up at him, taking a few seconds to reply, "Why would I be mad at you?"

"You know, for yelling and walking out at lunch, and now ruining your potion. Snape wouldn't be picking on you if it wasn't for me!"

"No Harry, I won't deny that I'm really annoyed at you arriving late for class, but I'm not mad at you, nor is this your fault. Professor Snape had already scolded me thoroughly before you knocked on the door..."

"Why, that ba--"

"Harry!" she hissed at him, placing a hand on his mouth, "The professor was right, I was getting ahead of myself, although I'm sure I was doing it correctly." They noticed an increase in whispers and someone clearly commented on how she dared to touch wizardkind's saviour like that.

"Who's this wizard saviour?" he asked quietly so that only Hermione could hear, while peeling some Bubotubers with a small bronze scythe.

She blushed a little and looked down to check her next step for the Boils-Be-Bygones potion on her book, "Well... You are, of course."

"Huh?"

"It's how wizards refer to you, as hero, saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived... After You-Know-Who tried to kill you and vanished."

"Great!" he said and threw the noxious plants inside his leaking cauldron in annoyance, not caring for them being only partially skinned.

"Wait! That's not right, Harry!"

"Of course it isn't, Voldemort killed my parents and I get famous? I'd rather have them alive and be unknown..."

Hermione felt sad for him, she still couldn't understand how this was news for him, apparently the Muggle family he lived with had sheltered Harry from all forms of magic and its world. "I meant about your ingredients, but I wholeheartedly agree with your point of view regarding fame," she explained, having suffered many of its undesired effects herself, as well as wishing the same thing.

"Oh... Right. Well, it's what's written on the blackboard, see? Seventh step, peel your Bubotubers."

"But the book says different..." she read again, "First the stings, then five and three-quarters of a minute later the Bubotuber _peelings_! Not the plants themselves!"

"Oops..."

The ordinarily orange liquid quickly took on a whiter and more viscous appearance, began to bubble and emit a very unpleasant odour. Sniffing the air, Professor Snape looked up from his seat on the raised stand and suddenly dropped what looked like a colourful brooms catalogue of sorts, with bright moving pictures of scantly dressed witches waving and pointing at the latest sporty broomstick models.

Hermione snorted softly, thinking about men and their cars, or broomsticks rather, and recalling her uncle Charle's obsession with his Silver Spur. Meanwhile, Harry stood petrified looking at his bubbling foul-smelling cauldron, only reacting when the professor made to move up to him.

"Stupid boy!" he yelled, "Have you no eyes or is it that you just cannot read?"

Professor Snape made to snatch the old cauldron from the desk, but Harry reacted instinctively and pulled it towards himself first. "No, I can fix it!" he said, holding it by the handle, which being rusty snapped as the force of his pulling threw the loaded vessel through the air, in the direction of the ingredients cabinet to their right.

Time itself slowed down for Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and the Head of Slytherin. The first watched the unmanned cauldron's flightpath in awe, the second took the rational measure of hiding under their desks as quick as possible, and the latter waved his wand frantically around. The metallic vessel crashed through the bevelled glass cabinets and smashed against the myriad of containers inside, spilling powders, dessicated animals and venomous plants as well as the failed Boils-Be-Bygones potion inside.

Boom!

The reaction between all the mixed elements created a loud explosion and a thick cloud of smoke that billowed up towards the ceiling of the cold, poorly lit dungeon classroom, coalescing together and forming a menacing nimbus over the worried heads and looks of the pupils. Hermione cautiously covered her potion with a thick book and pulled a red umbrella decorated with prancing cats from her rucksack, which she opened over herself.

Lightning and thunder clapped before Professor Snape could vanish the nimbuses to oblivion, and without warning Harry was struck, making his very bones glow underneath his robes and his body float on the air. "Harry!" yelled Hermione, who grabbed on to the power-charged boy's arm, feeling the jolt go through her as well, only milder.

The result of the colliding clouds was, as expected, rain. Gooey rain. Multi-coloured goo that showered Harry and those immediately next to him, namely Ron, Neville and Hermione, while the professor fumed and muttered a string of imprecations no child should be allowed to hear.

Pop! Pop-pop-pop!

Uncomfortable yet not painful pinching rocked their bodies, Hermione and Harry watched slack-jawed as Blacksnout suddenly sprouted a set of anterior and posterior legs, much like a lizard, but the roaring laughter behind them indicated something else had happened. They looked back to find Neville waving his arms, all four of them! He was so scared his eyes rolled upwards and he fainted, which let them appreciate the effects of the undetermined potion nimbus on Ron.

Harry tried hard to contain his laughter when the red-haired boy turned to face him, dangling a pink and freckled elephant trunk instead of a nose. It was as he asked "What?" but only managed to make an elephant trumpeting sound that his resolve broke and he burst out laughing.

"You're the one to laugh," Hermione said with a grin, "don't you feel a bit _heavier_ on the head?"

He turned to face her and then saw her pointing at something over him, while still hiding under her goo-sodden umbrella. Harry brought both hands up and felt something like branches sticking out of his skull. "What the...?"

"Antlers Harry!" she laughed, "You've got antlers!"

"_Detention!_" shouted Professor Snape, "For you... You... _You!_... And when he wakes up, the Longbottom dimwit as well!" he seethed, pointing with the incandescent smoking tip of his wand at each of the affected Gryffindors. "Now get out of my sight! To the Infirmary all of you!"

"But sir, my potion is--"

"I'll be the one to judge if your potion is even _worthy_ of being collected, Ms Granger. Ah, one more thing, six feet of parchment from each of you on the combined uses of Asphodel and Wormwood, the availability of Bezoars and how to differentiate Wolfsbane from Monkshood and Aconite..." he added with an unnerving smirk.

The three children picked their things in addition to their fainted housemate's and each held to one of Neville's arms, leaving one free to hang limply over his chest. They left the room under the snickering of the other girls and boys, followed by a _walking_ Blacksnout.

Hermione continued to feel an uncomfortable pressure on her rear, she had the foresight to cover herself with an umbrella and the gooey potion shouldn't have affected her, or so she rationalized. A few more steps and the discomfort turned into pain, she asked for a pause and gingerly touched her behind. "Eeep!" she exclaimed.

"What happened, Hermione?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all..." she said and wriggled a little on her witch robes, feeling somewhat relieved, but the problem was still there. The strange group was thankful that lessons were still a good ten minutes from over, which saved them from the embarrassment.

"Hey, thisss isss fun! I can sssee why your kind enjoysss walking ssso much!"

"Don't get usssed to it, thossse legsss are too unnatural for you," Harry replied in Parseltongue, under the watchful eye of the four-legged boa's owner.

Ron looked at them with furrowed brows and trumpeted again, waving his new appendage around.

"Am I the only one to speak English here? Yes Ron, I'll ask for directions to the Infirmary, if that's your trumpeted question; and what are you two hissing at each other about?"

Harry told Hermione of how much fun her snake was having on four legs, and she shook her head. It was only after fifteen minutes and being ridiculed several times, since everyone in the castle was exiting his or her classroom by that time, that they finally reached the white double doors of the Hogwarts Infirmary, where a witch kept trying to pull a bloated, floating boy from the ceiling.

"Name, class and malady, if you please," the Healer asked.

"We're all first years. Potions, and the malady is... Well, extra appendages galore?" Hermione explained while dropping her rucksack and pulling the still unconscious Neville to a bed.

"Oh my!" exclaimed the Healer, forgetting about the airborne Slytherin and poking Ron's elephant nose, making him sneeze repeatedly.

"What about me?" the boy who floated asked.

"You'll deflate soon enough!" she answered and moved on to Harry's decorative antlers. She paused briefly over his forehead, smiled and then looked over at Neville, "The tricky part with him is knowing which arms are the original ones. What's wrong with you then, miss?"

"Ivgotailmebutks..." she said softly. Harry was curious to know as well, since she had been under the protection of an umbrella and didn't show any signs of extra legs, arms or unnatural animal parts anywhere.

"Excuse me? I fail to understand you, child."

Hermione motioned for the Healer to join her behind a privacy curtain, and showed her the uncomfortable problem. A swinging furry tail popped from under her robes, and she whimpered quietly, asking what could be done. "I've got a tail on my buttocks! Is there anything you can do, ma'am?"

"Call me Madame Pomfrey, and yes, I'll take care of it. Severus is going to hear from me this time, yes he will!" she promised before walking to a cupboard and fetching a series of flasks. Madame Pomfrey then asked their names, and produced a parchment with a floating, automatic scribbling quill for each pupil. Hermione's curiosity took the best of her and she began asking about the quill and the flasks.

"Those are QuickChart Quills, specially made for taking Healer notes. And these flasks contain some of the possible solutions to your problems."

"What's wrong with my friend then?" Harry asked with concern and guilt etched in his eyes.

"Nothing I cannot solve, Mr Potter."

"But why won't you tell me what--"

"I've got a tail! There, happy now?" the bushy haired girl answered, knowing Harry was soon going to let his temper flare, yet again. She turned a little and popped the furry, black appendage out from under the hem of her robes, wriggling it side to side as she had seen her cats Jim and John do at home.

Harry and Ron began to snicker, well in Ron's case it was more of a harrumphing sound, and she couldn't help herself but smile and laugh as well. They continued to talk and while Hermione translated Ron's intended words, Harry smiled and understood what friendship really is, that it means accepting each other's faults because they pale in comparison to their goodness and the joy of being together. His oldest newest friend, the girl who smiled behind the glass, scolded him again for being so impulsive and pulling that stunt with the cauldron, and he accepted it knowing it was her way of caring for him.

Hermione then smiled at her green-eyes; no, he wasn't hers any longer, she thought. He was now simply Harry, the boy who doesn't think before he acts but has his heart in the right place. She tried hard to embrace what they had as friendship, desperately wanting to shed her previous lonely life.

From the ajar door of the Head Healer's office, Madame Pomfrey leaned back and enjoyed watching three children making fun of each other's trunk, tail and antlers, talking and laughing at everything and nothing. The alchemy between them made her reminisce on her own time as a child, carefree and eager to learn magic in this very same castle. She smiled again and, putting her stern Healer face on, went out to ask them to be quiet and swallow the potions she levitated by their side.

* * *

Notes:

1.- Percepticer: A Healer that deals with human perception, the five senses (some specialize in the sixth, but are called Seers) of sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing.  
2.- I made lessons last exactly 88 minutes and 88 seconds (01:29:28 h:m:s) A double-lesson thus lasts 176 minutes and 176 seconds (02:58:56 h:m:s) The use of the "eight" figure representing infinity is intended, because most times lessons simply last forever! (Particularly the boring ones...) 


	8. Chapter 8: A Time for Mystery

**Chapter 8: A Time for Mystery**

The Hogwarts Infirmary was the sole responsibility of Healer Madame Poppy Pomfrey. Its immaculate off-white plaster walls and cream tile floors belied the fact it resided in the southern wing of a thousand year old restless castle, and brass frame hospital beds lined the walls in orderly fashion, hopefully never to be occupied but still present for whatever magical emergencies she was called to tend for.

This first day of classes had produced but a couple of Blast-Ended Skrewt burns and a bloated, floating boy until after lunch, when four children arrived with transfigured body parts from a first year Potions lesson of all subjects. How a simple Boils-Be-Bygones brewing assignment derived into that kind of potion induced transfiguration was beyond Madame Pomfrey's immediate understanding, and she decided to try a simple restorative draught first.

"Be quiet and lay down on your beds, please," she commanded.

Hermione complied but couldn't really lay on her back due to the furry tail she had acquired, settling for a more comfortable position from where she could watch Harry struggling with his antlers and trying to disentangle them from the bars of the bed's head rest.

While Ron kept pointing and trumpeting at Harry's predicament, Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over Neville and made his four arms glow in two different colours, tying a parchment label to the shining blue ones before the glow vanished. She then turned to Hermione and asked her to drink the bubbling red liquid.

"Ms Granger, can I ask you to remind your friends to drink another cup of this draught in exactly two and a half hours?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"I'll be glad to do it, ma'am."

"The effects of your accident should disappear after the second dose. If they do not, please come visit me again tomorrow morning."

"But... But how am I supposed to sleep with these on my head?" Harry asked, pointing at his fancy ornaments and still angry at the fact it was his own fault he had antlers, and that his classmates also had various additional body parts. Even Hermione's snake had grown legs! He was however grateful yet again for whatever heavenly being had decided to look down and give him a chance of a better life. It all began with the very same girl that was stretching and waving her tail on the bed to his right, and continued with her being related to the charity that gave his school musical instruments to play on! Not only that, but he came to find her after the most amazing discovery that he was a wizard, that his parents were magical people and had once loved him. And now, even after what he did today, she continued to talk and laugh with him, as did Ron although he really couldn't speak a word through that pink elephant trunk of his.

Because of the disappointment he suffered with his former teacher Mr Harper, Harry remained suspicious towards adults, and before drinking the offered draught looked for Ron and Hermione's silent guidance. Ron nodded at him and used his prehensile nose to grab a cup and drink it in one big gulp. He then sighed and drunk his own awfully tasting cup of Restoration Draught. "Thank you Madame Pomfrey," he said, always polite despite his reservations.

Harry lifted his left arm to touch the brown antlers and see if they were at least getting smaller, but suddenly felt being observed. He turned to see Ron looking out the window with his arms crossed, probably angry at being unable to speak. Neville was being awakened by Madame Pomfrey, and she poured the red bubbly draught down his throat before he could even ask where he was. Looking to his right, he found a pair of brown eyes staring at him.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

She shook her head negatively, "No Harry, I... I just can't believe I got detention..."

"I'm sorry..." he said dejectedly.

"You should be!" she said with a fake frown, "Now tell me, have you learned _not_ to mix potions ingredients without double-checking first?"

"Yeah..."

"_And_ not to wave your cauldron around?"

He looked down and nodded, a difficult motion given the added weight on his head. Harry briefly compared how different it was to be taught softly instead being yelled at, slapped or being held by the hair and threatened into learning things as his aunt and uncle did.

"I... You... Why do you have your name on that charity fund?" Harry asked, unable to verbalize his true feelings of thankfulness for everything she meant to him.

"Oh... Er... Actually it was my uncle's idea," she said.

"And did you really give my school a piano and a lot of instruments? It was because of you that I wanted to learn to play on it, you know? Well, on the piano my teacher didn't steal, that is," he added with a smirk.

"Oh, so that's what happened..." Hermione trailed off as she remembered something her cousin had mentioned after her brief thank-you note the day of her uncle Charle's charity foundation sponsored musical contest. "A cute boy from a primary school in Little Whinging was backstage accusing his teacher of stealing donated funds and instruments", Bernadette had told her that afternoon. Surely Harry was the cute boy she had referred to, and now that he had removed his eyeglasses she could most certainly agree.

"Yeah, and the Headmaster at my school also stole lots of money that was for seesaws and trampolines!" he added with indignation clearly stated in his voice.

"What's a sea-straw?" asked Neville, who still had parchment tags tied to a few of his twenty fingers. Madame Pomfrey had also made two more sleeves on his cloak so that he could feel more comfortable and he was now sitting while trying to coordinate his double pair of arms.

Ron seemed to have the same question, he sneezed loudly again and turned to face Harry and Hermione, while the Chief Healer continued to try and bring the floating Slytherin down to one of the hospital's beds.

"Hmmm... It's _seesaw_, a board where kids who are allowed sit on each end and jump up and down, like the swings and monkey bars and stuff to play with that playgrounds have?"

"Who'd want to play with a monkey? They bite!"

Hermione blinked and shared a glance with Harry, who shrugged and tried to explain it better. "A playground is where other kids can have fun and run around dreaming of fantasy worlds instead of being locked inside their cup-- I mean inside their rooms. It's got these large wheels you spin on, and then slides that you climb and let yourself slide down for fun too?"

Neville looked thoughtful for a second and then asked, "Why would you want to do that spinning thing?"

"Because, Mr Longbottom, sometimes Muggles are even worse than wizards when it comes to placing themselves in danger," piped Madame Pomfrey from the middle of the large room, finally holding on to the puffed boy by his ear, who in turn was yelling about mistreatment of children. "Hush Mr Voltarien, you're almost an adult man, please act like one!"

Everyone laughed except for Hermione, who was observing Harry with narrowed eyes. He had corrected himself and phrased it as if he'd never been allowed to experience a seesaw on the playground himself; he said "other kids" and mentioned being locked in a room. Locked! Not bored or cooped up, he said forcefully confined to a room, or somewhere beginning with "cup". She also remembered how Harry had mentioned Hagrid, the man they were going to see this afternoon, visiting him and taking him to Diagon Alley after he received the Hogwarts letter, and back then he had also stopped himself in the middle of a word, correcting himself afterwards.

Harry was a mystery waiting to be solved, she thought, but her attention drifted to the sight of Blacksnout _walking_ into the Infirmary with a happy bounce on his steps. "Madame Pomfrey? What can you do for my familiar over there?"

The healer took a glance at the four-legged boa and sighed, "Unfortunately my knowledge of creatures other than humans is limited Ms Granger. Perhaps you could take it to our Groundskeeper? He's very knowledgeable on magical creatures."

"That's Hagrid! We're having tea with him at five," said Harry as he took the phial Madame Pomfrey handed him.

"Remember, drink it in exactly two hours and twenty minutes more! And do _not_ mix them, each has been formulated for your own _unique_ condition."

The four children thanked the Chief Healer again and exited the Hospital Wing. Neville having four arms offered to carry Hermione's rucksack besides his own leather messenger bag, which she promptly thanked him for, while Harry and Ron sprinted ahead, one using his versatile nose to pull on the other's antlers in an improvised game of tag.

It took ten minutes and quite a lot of teasing on the way to reach the Gryffindor Tower, where even the Fat Lady had a laugh at their expense before flipping up to allow them inside. The Common Room was scarcely occupied but for a few young pupils hunched over parchment and books, most were likely outside enjoying the good weather, and they made for the coach in front of the big hearth under the Gryffindor coat of arms carved on the stone.

"Look at it on the bright side, Harry, nobody cared to look at your forehead and find out who you are!" Hermione told him, watching him cross his arms and sigh in annoyance.

"I think these things are even flashier... Why couldn't Madame Pomfrey just use magic and, I dunno, pluck them out or something?"

"I wish she could!" Hermione replied, trying to find a comfortable sitting position on the couch.

"I'm sorry, sorry for getting you into detention and leaving all of you looking like this..."

Neville shrugged and waved three of his hands, gesturing for Harry not to worry while he tried to find his wand inside his bag with the fourth. Meanwhile Ron trumpeted something and Hermione agreed, telling him they had already accepted his apology back in the Infirmary.

"Besides, in a couple of hours we'll drink these phials and be back to our regular selves!"

Somehow Harry didn't share her enthusiasm, because the mess he made with that flying cauldron was surely too unpredictable to be solved this easily. Of course he hoped his friends would be free of extra body parts, but he was just not very optimistic at all.

He watched her pull parchment rolls and a couple of books from her rucksack, Powder Proportions in Potions and Capturing Ingredients for your Cauldron were its titles, as well as a big box of quills, a foldaway portable desk she placed on her lap, an already worn-out copy of their Potions textbook and a glass jar filled with marshmallows. Hermione then arranged all her things neatly around her, before plunging her arms back into the rucksack to retrieve another book titled The Healer's Companion and a small planner bound in deep-blue leather.

"How much stuff _do_ you carry around, Hermione?" he asked, looking at the still half-full rucksack on the floor.

"Hmmm? Oh, these are just a few things I needed for this afternoon," she replied casually.

Ron, Harry and Neville shared a glance and the first twirled an index finger around his temple, to which both other boys nodded in agreement. They turned back to the girl behind the wall of books as she asked "Marshmallows anyone?" and offered the open glass jar to them.

"What are you going to write?"

"The Charms, Potions and Transfiguration essays, of course," she answered, bringing a sweet to her mouth and chewing on it.

"But they aren't due 'til next week!"

"Precisely, _only_ one week to complete them, and we've been given detention to boot, which will severely limit our time to complete school work."

She prepared parchment, ink and a quill, titled the essay and began to write furiously for a couple of minutes, until her gaze moved upwards at her friends. Neville and Ron had settled on opposite sides of a chessboard while Harry kept his eyes focused on her written foot-long introduction.

"You... I... Did you slip these into my robes?" he asked, pulling a roll of parchment.

Hermione blushed and nodded silently, recognizing her script and preparing to defend her intentions. He had not asked for help, and she hadn't even offered it first, instead she surreptitiously delivered the compendium of spells, hexes and other tiny bits of magical information she had used to study herself inside his pocket.

"Why? I mean..." Harry struggled with his words and emotions again, the common room began to spin and the walls started to crawl up on him. He needed open space and he needed it now. "Walk with me!"

"Harry? What-- _Wait!_" screamed Hermione as she was pulled by the hand and her portable table flew through the air, leaving books, parchment and quills strewn on the floor, as well as a rolling glass jar of marshmallows that Ron picked using his prehensile trunk, quickly chewing on one and tossing another to Neville, who fumbled with it until catching it with one of his extra arms.

They left the common room pushing the Fat Lady up and Hermione yelled a quick "sorry" over her shoulder while Harry continued to drag her out the corridors, traipsing down several staircases and turning corners until reaching the large hourglasses that kept the score of House Points earned and taken, showing Slytherin ahead by six over Ravenclaw. He pulled her again after she tried to lecture on the significance of the sparkling jewels and they soon found the adorned double archway leading to one of the courtyards, where an ancient apple tree stood firmly in the middle of a manicured emerald lawn, surrounded by wrought iron benches in a circle facing out towards the flagstone labyrinth pathway that connected to the outer gardens and the northern wing of the castle.

Both children sat on one of the benches and Harry found his emotions overwhelming him again. "Where's the darn music when you need it," he thought, and was soon rewarded with the melodic birdsong of a colourful flock of birds that perched for a drink in one the small fountains spread over the gardens. That is until the fountain began to spit jets of water at each and every bird, shooing them away.

Hermione sat with her arms crossed over her chest expecting some kind of explanation, she was already fifteen minutes behind schedule on her first day of classes! On second thought, however, she realized it was her who owed Harry an explanation. "I apologise for not asking you first, but I... I just saw you, well, kind of lost... And I know it because I was like that for a whole month! I'm still lost and in awe of the magical world, Harry. Just take a look at those apples for instance!" she pointed at the appetizing golden fruits on the tree.

The raven-haired boy didn't look at the fruits, he continued to stare at, or perhaps through her and suddenly jerked awake from his stupor. "What did you apologise for?"

"For the parchment rolls?"

"Thank you, Hermione," he said and ran a hand over the back of his head. "I mean for everything, you'd know I'm no good at talking or making friends, and b-before you find me worthless, I just wanted to thank you first..."

She stood there unable to lower the arm pointing at the apple tree and then scurried closer to Harry, who recoiled a little but soon relaxed again. "I'll never find you worthless Harry, if anything I'm the one that doesn't hold a candle to you. You've meant hope and acceptance to me ever since that day in the library, and you should know that."

"Ienvdrumtofyu," he mumbled after her words.

"Excuse me?"

"I've even dreamt of you," he said and dropped his face even further, making his eyeglasses teeter dangerously on the tip of his nose.

"Since we met all that time ago?" she asked with a smile and another blush, staring at her own hands in turn.

With a shaky affirmative nod that finally brought his round spectacles falling to the ground, Harry chanced a look and felt a wave of comfort from the smile on Hermione's face. "You're very different from what I dreamt though," he said and panicked when the smile faded from her face.

"Am I too annoying?" she asked pitifully.

"No, Hermione, what I mean is... Is that I'd take a minute with the real you over dreaming of you for my full life..."

"Oh..." she said, and choked a little, softly spoken reply, "I'll be your friend for a lifetime if you let me."

Harry remembered how good it felt to hug someone who cared for him, even if it was the oversized leg of a giant bearded man that arrived mounting a flying motorcycle infested with fleas, and wondered if it would feel the same with her. He hesitated for a second, but fought the fluttering bats that made a second appearance inside his belly all of the sudden, to wrap a shaking pair of pale and thin arms around the surprised girl. "Promise?" he asked in a whisper.

"I promise!" she said and hugged him back with uncontrolled strength, knocking the air out of his lungs. She noticed his discomfort and loosened her grip, allowing him to breath freely again at frowning at how thin he felt under those robes. A silver ribbon shot from a magical solar time-keeper in the middle on the emerald lawn, writing six minutes to four in the afternoon on the air before blasting itself in a puff of smoke and Hermione sighed, not wanting to let go but also aware that they were just beginning to really know each other, and no matter how complete and content finding Harry made her feel, they were still strangers facing an even stranger world.

For his part, Harry found a new, wonderful theme for his compositions and couldn't care more for the time, nor for the laughs directed at his attention-grabbing antlers, or even if his parents' murderer was somehow sitting next to him at that very moment, for he was holding a long lost friend in a hug, who promised to join him in this new world of magic forever. He looked through some bushy brown hair tendrils and noticed a group of adult wizards assembled by one of the farther iron benches, diminutive Professor Flitwick among them, enjoying some tea being served on a floating tray. He didn't recognize any of the others yet, but was surely going to meet them as the week progressed.

"We better go back, and _you_ are going to begin the Potions essay, mister I-throw-cauldrons-to-the-air!" she said while releasing Harry and poking his antlers. Hermione had been surprised once again by his impulsiveness, pleasantly surprised after he dragged her from the couch and unwilling to actually return to the tower and study, but her sense of duty called for it. She watched him bending over and picking his spectacles, drawing a sharp breath and rubbing his temples after banging the animal ornaments on the floor before straightening up again.

"Yeah... Let's go, and then you'll meet my friend Hagrid," he said while still feeling somewhat dizzy. Those antlers really did resonate loudly inside his brain. Of course his appearance drew even more laughs as they walked back inside the castle, and Harry listened to Hermione's comments on how right she was to always carry an umbrella, or else she'd be sporting a nice pair of feline ears or something worse on her own head.

He tried to resist the tempting swishing his friend's furry tail made, which peeked from under her robes, but just like this morning when deciding to jump or not to jump on his exquisite wizard's bed, he succumbed to its call. Harry took a series of slower, shorter steps to fall slightly behind Hermione, and since they were the same height, took advantage of the next flight of stairs to make his move.

"Harry!" she yelped and jumped on the air, pulling the tail from his right handed grip. She looked back and down at him, noticing undisguised mischief in those green eyes she had treasured for so many years, "Harry don't! Stay away from-- Ahhh!"

He pulled on the black appendage again just before she bolted away from him. Harry began to chase her upstairs, running along the corridors as the suits of armour turned their hollowed helmets and portraits followed them with their eyes. The mad dash continued up another floor, closer to the Gryffindor Tower where they ran into Percy, who was swiftly pushed aside and ended falling on his arse against the cold, polished stone floor while yelling about disrespect towards his authority.

"No running in the hallways! Come back here, I'm a Prefect!" Percy insisted behind the children's backs, until they faded out of sight. Hermione continued to look back and yell at him to stay away while laughing, and Harry was already tiring from the run, wondering how someone could have more endurance than he had, when he was so used to running away from his cousin Dudley and his bullies. The fun chase stopped abruptly when she halted and he ran straight into her back, tumbling them to the ground.

"Is chasing people by their tail a rude habit of yours, Mr Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall, who had just vacated the premises of her office and was staring down at them with very thinned lips.

Hermione slipped the tail back under the hem of her robe and scrambled to get to her feet, dusting and smoothing her clothes as much as possible and looking down at Harry while he tried to find his spectacles on the floor. She toed the round-framed lenses towards him and turned a very embarrassed face to her Head of House.

"Step inside, please!" she commanded, waving her wand and unlocking the door leading to the very same office they had visited the night before. Hermione noticed Mrs McGonagall's longing gaze at the empty cabinet, and then Harry elbowed her with a nod towards a medium sized, finely crafted wooden harp resting on top of a side table.

"It must be the one I heard being played last night," Harry whispered.

"Albinoni, was it not?" she asked using the corner of her mouth.

"You heard it too?"

A guttural cough interrupted their hushed talk from the table in front of them. Professor McGonagall didn't provide any chairs for them this time, and Harry hoped it wasn't a sign of her displeasure.

"Thirty points taken, four Gryffindors in detention, a full cupboard of ruined ingredients and transfigured pupils in the Infirmary," she stated and took a glance at Harry's obvious predicament, "do you have anything to say on the matter, Mr Potter?"

"It was Snape's fault the cauldron snapped!" he said without thinking, and then added a feeble "sorry ma'am" while Hermione tried to hush him with a silent gesture. She rolled her eyes at him and tried to salvage the situation.

"May I offer our testimony for what happened, Professor McGonagall?" she asked and, upon receiving a nod from the Head of House, proceeded to explain how Harry had been handed a rusty old cauldron, clearly not up to standards for potion brewing. Hermione presented a fair account of his late arrival to class and how he wished to salvage his potion but the force of the movement caused the corroded handle to break, thus creating the subsequent rain that showered Neville, Ron, Harry and herself.

"Interesting," Professor McGonagall said and threw another intimidating look at Harry, who took a small step towards the door, "may I examine the notorious effects of such unpredictable brew?"

He nodded but flinched as the Deputy Headmistress produced her wand and pointed it at him, muttering some strange words and taking notice of the glowing colours around his head. The older witch seemed satisfied and asked Hermione if she could do the same to her, waving her wand in a complicated flourish to make the tail glow in a rainbow of colours as well.

"Detention with Professor Snape will be carried out every day at six in the afternoon, for one hour until next Monday starting tomorrow," she stated and made her wand disappear under her sleeve, promptly showing the young Gryffindors outside and telling them to enjoy the evening. Professor McGonagall then turned and walked away in a hurried pace towards the lower floors of the castle.

"Wasn't she mad at us?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah..." he replied absent-mindedly, following her steps towards their tower.

"Then why did she change so suddenly into a new, lighter mood?"

"I don't really know..."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Those looked like diagnostic spells. You don't think there's something wrong with us, do you?"

"Sure..."

"Harry! You aren't listening to me!" she said and stopped before the Fat Lady, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him from walking. He halted and stood back immediately.

"If there's a harp, there's got to be other instruments. Will you come with me tonight to that corridor where we heard it?"

"What? No, no, no, Harry we're in too much trouble already, and it's only our _first day_ of school!"

"Please Hermione? You're the only one who knows how get back there. I'd lose myself and probably end up in the Slytherin Common Room," Harry pleaded and shivered at the idea of spending time with the likes of that Malfoy boy and his Lords of the Playground.

"But why?" she asked pitifully.

He hesitated for a few seconds, and then said "because music's the only thing, besides dreaming of you, that... That..."

"What, Harry?"

"I just... I..." he said and shuffled his feet, remaining silent.

Hermione nodded and decided he'd tell her in time. The mystery of who Harry is could only come to be known while she revealed herself to him, for it would be unfair of her to demand that which she couldn't give. They spoke "Tempus novus" to the Fat Lady and soon joined Neville and Ron.

"The replenishing charm on your sweets is broken!" Neville explained to Hermione when she finished collecting her books and quills, pointing at the now empty jar of marshmallows.

She pouted and shook the jar upside down hoping to make any marshmallows hiding inside to fall off, only to sigh and resign herself to the fact she had only managed to enjoy one single serving. Hermione didn't bother to tell Neville and Ron that Muggle jars had no replenishing charms in them. Instead, she capped and went to place it back inside her rucksack, moving the goo sodden umbrella aside to make room. As she moved it some droplets sprinkled away and her investigative brain kicked into action, uncapping the glass and pouring as much of the haphazard potion from the synthetic fabric's surface as possible into it for future study.

After many minutes of nagging and several angry glares later, the four Gryffindors spent most of the hour writing their due work, or surrendering to the allure of an exploding snap game as was the case with Harry and Ron, who trumpeted loudly every once in a while. As Ron wiped his singed elephant trunk for the fourth time, Harry peeked at the clock and asked if they wished to walk with him towards Hagrid's hut by the edge of the forest, as the brief and barely legible note he received that morning explained.

They stored their things and Hermione took a second to whisper in Harry's ear. He nodded and walked quietly to stand near the girl's bedrooms archway.

"Blacksssnout, come down here please," he hissed and waited, snorting at the happy bounce the boa sported as it walked downstairs.

"Can I eat the foul-sssmelling rat now?" the boa asked while Harry picked it up.

"Behave! You made a promissse."

"I promisssed abaeteh not to touch it unlesss I sssprouted legsss... And here they are!"

Harry laughed and some third year boys sitting under the tapestry of a wizard taunting a fire-breathing dragon by showing him his buttocks looked at him apprehensively. He dismissed the looks and put his leather messenger bag on the right shoulder, careful not to hurt Blacksnout who was half coiled over him.

"What were you two laughing at back there?" Hermione asked.

"Your pet wanted to chase Ron's fat rat now that he's got legs. Don't worry, he promised he isn't going to," he added when Ron lifted his elephant nose to complain. "You know Hermione, he's a real chatterbox, doesn't stop talking for a second..." Harry complained and shook his head.

"Reminds me of a cousin I have to endure living with," she answered truthfully. "I hope your owl isn't of the jealous type, because Blacksnout seems to like being with you!"

Harry growled a little and shielded his eyes from the evening sun, standing on top of the stone steps leading into Hogwarts Castle. He scanned the edge of the forest and found a stone hut no more than a hundred yards away from the lake's shore. The hut itself was surrounded by an orchard and had a wide bare earth pathway leading to a large wooden door, flanked by small windows with crooked wooden shutters on either side.

Reaching the hut, Harry fisted his hand and hit the door, causing loud barking to be heard from the inside. A gruff voice he immediately recognized commanded the barking animal to be quiet and soon the door flung open.

"Harry? Galloping gorgons! What happened ter yeh?"

"Hello Hagrid! I hope you don't mind, I've invited my friends to join us for tea?"

"Course not! C'mon inside," he said and stepped sideways.

They walked in but bumped into each other when Neville stood frozen face to face with a very large boarhound that was intently smelling his nose. The large dog seemed to approve and wagged its tail, woofed and began to lick Neville.

"Fang! Get outta her' yeh beast," Hagrid commanded and the boarhound moved towards Hermione, who wrapped her arms around its neck.

"Hello Fang," she greeted and then released the happy dog. "He doesn't have anything against felines, does he Mr Hagrid?"

"Only fer that darn cat o' Filch's, he does," the giant man answered, "and what happened ter the lot o' yeh?" Hagrid asked, holding to Harry's antlers and giving them a thorough shake that left him swaying on his feet.

"Potions accident," Neville replied and then pulled Ron's nose, which he promptly retrieved with a sneeze.

Hagrid was introduced to each of the boys and one girl, and then asked them to sit comfortably while pulling a gigantic kettle from a hook over live flames, handing each of the four children a cup and pouring the hot liquid in them. He leaned back in an oversized chair and scratched his beard, looking at the assembled crew of transfigured boys.

"We must drink our regenerating draught first, it's time," Hermione reminded her friends and drunk her own, discretely patting her rear to confirm whether the furry tail was gone. She looked over at Ron who was scrunching his face and crossing his eyes to watch the prehensile trunk vanish, but it remained hanging there above the elongated mouth and tiny tusks.

Pop! Crash!

They turned on the sound of broken china and saw Neville's extra arms had disappeared, unfortunately he was holding his cup of tea and saucer with the duplicate hands, not his original ones. He apologized profusely to Hagrid and began to scoop the shattered pieces while Fang licked the tea from the wooden floor.

Nervous about his own antlers, Harry reached up with his left hand and sighed when he felt them still there. He wondered if their animal traits were somehow harder to remove than extra human limbs. "Er... Hagrid? You wouldn't know anything about potions?"

"Sorry ter say I don't, but when yeh feel like eatin' sum' fresh pasture, be me guest to stop by!" he said with a booming laugh, a joke Harry didn't quite enjoy himself. Hagrid noticed this and coughed, turning to Ron and pinching his nose, earning a series of sneezes from him.

"Did it work for you, Hermione?"

She replied with a small moan and a negative shake of her bushy-haired head. Making a mental note to research human to animal transfiguration in her mind, Hermione pointed Blacksnout to Harry and went to help Neville clean up his mess.

"Madame Pomfrey recommended that we take Hermione's familiar to you, Hagrid. Would you mind telling us if you can do something for him?"

Hagrid took the reptile in his enormous hand and scratched his beard. "What's wrong with the Tropical Herpolizard?"

"I'm no lizard, you big babakuara! I'm a proud boa conssstrictor of the Boidae family!" Blacksnout hissed upwards.

"That he's supposed to be a boa, and snakes have no legs?" Harry replied, ignoring the voiced indignation from the fake Herpolizard, whatever that was.

"Magical creatures 'ave the ability to put 'emselves back together. I'd give it time and its own desire ter be what it is oughta make 'em legs disappear," Hagrid explained and returned the hissing reptile to Harry. "Now, I've baked me own recipe o' cakes. Who's gunna try 'em first?"

Having first-hand experience with Hagrid's baking before, Harry gladly allowed Ron to pick the first offering. He snickered behind his cup of tea when Ron tried hard to bite a piece off of the rock hard cake and failed miserably. He tried to contain his laughter when Hermione scrutinized first and then attacked her piece with those large front teeth but couldn't savour more than a few crumbs. Watching Neville trying to chisel his cake with a knife and bending the blade instead was too much and Harry choked on his tea.

"Yeh alright, Harry?"

"Yes, t-thank you Hagrid," he said after recovering from the pat on the back the giant gave him.

The hour ebbed away in between talk of how Harry had been collecting unopened Hogwarts letters at his home, the accident in Potions that caused their current transfiguration and what they liked about Hogwarts so far. The children avoided telling Hagrid how they almost fell from the Astronomy Tower, however, instead focusing on the experience of their first day of class.

A tap on the window called for their attention and Hagrid used his umbrella to push the window open, allowing an owl to flutter inside and drop a package on Hermione's lap. It was addressed to Hermione Granger, Hogwarts and had an odd irregular shape, she battled the need to investigate the parcel and turned back to the enormous bearded man who was praising Ron and Neville's family for being brave wizards, yet for some reason Neville looked extremely nervous and pale, something both Harry and Hermione noticed.

"What can you tell us about my parents?" Harry asked and perched himself expectantly on the edge of the sofa.

"Aw, Harry, yer mum an' dad were good friends, bless 'em. Members o' the Order they wer--" Hagrid stopped and his eyes bulged out of their sockets for an instant and then muttered "Shouldn't 'ave said that," before gulping the last of his fifth cup of tea and telling them to return to the castle because it was getting dark already.

"Hagrid, wait! Members of what?" insisted Harry, trying to counter the shoving and pushing by planting his feet on the wooden floor. "Why won't you tell me?"

With an enormous sigh, Hagrid dropped to his knees next to Harry by the open door to his hut. He asked for Neville, Ron and Hermione to go ahead back to the castle, which they did despite the young girl's reservations. She locked eyes with Harry and nodded slightly, extending her arm for Blacksnout to climb. "We'll wait for you in the common room. Thank you for having us for tea, Mr Hagrid!"

Neville and Ron waved their goodbyes as well and filed up towards Hogwarts' main doors while Hagrid shifted and sat his massive frame on the steps of his hut, with Harry standing in front of him.

"Yer aunt oughta be ashamed o' herself fer not telling yeh anything... James an' Lily fought You-Know-Who next ter Dumbledore an' many other brave wizards fer years, yeh see. They'd all be members o' the Order, an' that's all I can tell yeh," he explained.

"Then why didn't these Order wizards defend my parents the day Voldemort attacked them?" Harry ignored the flinching and trembling, expecting an answer to his question. No matter how painful the past, it hurt more to have believed the lies his Dursley relatives fed him.

"We was all hidin' Harry, no one knew where yer parents lived. Dumbledore, great man he is, did the spell 'imself to hide yeh an' yer family, an' even he didn't remember where it was yeh lived! That's 'til after they..."

"Until after they were murdered," Harry completed the sentence, pulling back all the tears that wanted to fall from his eyes. He would be brave, he would be proud of his mother and father to repay them for so many years of unfounded hate and blame, for wishing they had never given birth to him.

Silence ensued for a couple of minutes, until Fang walked between them and dropped a large stick by Harry's feet, nudging him with his wet and cold nose to play. He slipped out of the sad fog that engulfed his mind and allowed a feeble smile to grace his thin, undernourished face. "Only once, Fang. I've got six feet of Potions homework to finish!" he said and threw the stick as far as he could, landing with a dull thud on the pebbled shores of the lake.

The boarhound ran after the stick with less than gracious strides and Harry was amazed the large dog hadn't actually tripped more than twice on its own long, uncoordinated legs. "Here Fang," he called and gave him the rock cake he'd saved from tea time, which he cracked and gulped quickly. "I guess you're used to Hagrid's baking, huh?"

"I was savin' this fer Christmas, but I guess now's when yeh need it most..." Hagrid said coming out from his hut, holding a thick book in his hand. He handed it to Harry and took a step back, while he turned the gift in his hands, reading the engraved title on the cover.

"Photo album... Hagrid, are there... Are there p-pictures of them in here?"

"Some were me own, an' the rest is pictures I'd manage to find in yer home, after we'd rescued yeh."

Harry tried to open the album, his fingertips already buried under the first thick page, but after several seconds he sighed and put his palm over it. He found he needed time and solitude to do this, to meet the image of his parents. "Thank you Hagrid, it's... It means a lot to me, and I'll treasure this forever."

With a wide wave of his hand, Hagrid bade him goodbye from behind a huge handkerchief he used to blow his nose. Harry looked back to see Fang and his master enter the hut and close the door, then hugged the photo album tighter and sped up his pace to reach the castle quickly.

After the long climb towards Gryffindor Tower, in which he had the distinct feeling of being watched by several professors he met more than once on the way, as well as being followed by the mangy cat he knew as Mrs Norris, Harry was forced to endure the Fat Lady's teasing before she allowed him inside. Hermione noticed him upset and asked what the matter was.

"The cheeky portrait asked how much was I going to charge for drying socks on my head! She even said a knut a pair was reasonable..."

The laughs his friends shared did nothing to appease him, and he huffed while stomping up towards the shared first-year bedroom. Harry sat on his bed and placed the album by the pillow, lingering for a moment and tracing the cover with the tip of a finger. He pulled himself up again, untangling the bed curtains from his antlers and resolved to finish some school work before heading for dinner.

He found it amazing that he could eat as much as he pleased in Hogwarts, no permission needed, and that the food tasted so great! It was nothing like the canned, vacuum-sealed or microwave-ready meals his uncle enjoyed so much. Harry also wondered if Hagrid had been expelled before he was taught how to make food appear with magic, and if that's the reason his baking was so hard to swallow.

Stepping out of the boy's dormitory, he found Ron trumpeting loudly and running around the common room, escaping his identical brothers. "We're just trying to help," they kept saying with their wands pointed at their younger sibling, but Ron seemed to want none of it.

"What's going on?" he asked as the three Weasleys zoomed by.

"Honestly, those two believe Ron sneaked into their secret hideout and swallowed some of their experiments," Hermione explained, looking up from her essay. "They even tried a reversal spell on Blacksnout!"

"Did it work?"

She pointed to a corner where the four-legged snake was playing catch with a couple of Siamese cats, actually jumping along. "Oh" he said and looked for a vacant place to continue the Potions essay they'd been handed as punishment, all because of him. Harry walked to a table where five older Gryffindors sat and politely asked if he could use the free end of the desk.

"Harry Potter, right? You've already taken us to the bottom of the House Cup table by losing what, sixty house points?" a taller, brown-haired boy sneered, "Do as you please, you're the Boy-Who-Lived after all! Conceited brat..."

The five picked their things and walked away, leaving Harry to stand alone. He felt asphyxiated under the pointed looks most of the other girls and boys were giving him, until a tiny hand rested on his shoulder.

"I'm just Harry..."

"I know--"

"No you don't," he replied somewhat angry. How could she know? Of what it feels like to be avoided by everyone, or how it hurt when people got mad at him for things he didn't do? Granted he _was_ responsible for some of the points taken, but he wasn't running around doing whatever struck his fancy on account of being some hero he didn't even know he was in the first place!

Hermione pulled on the thin boy's shoulder and turned his face to her. "I _know_," she repeated and he relaxed before throwing a suspicious glance at her, "and there will be a time for us to talk and share, yet now is the time to ignore them and focus on yourself, Harry."

She led him towards the armchair she had been using and cleared her things, making room for him while she sat on the floor, leaning sideways on its leg and resting her head on its armrest. George and Fred meanwhile had finally frozen Ron with a double _petrificus totalus_ spell and were trying several incantation variations on him while discussing the possibility of flushing his system with a large dose of very nasty ingredients, the least harmful of which was undiluted dragon bile.

The clock on the wall showed seven minus eleven and Harry's stomach rumbled, something that Hermione found quite amusing. They made to follow in the wake of Gryffindors that emptied the common room to satisfy their own rumbling bellies, but Harry had stopped in front of the adorned magical time keeper.

"What's a gutk?" he asked, pointing at the main silver face of the clock, which was split in twenty four even spaces and framed by an outer ring bearing roman numerals and the legend g.u.t.k. among them. Behind the gold main hands of the clock several orbs twirled and spun, some with smaller hands pointing to letters or runes, and others depicting the phases of the moon and other planets.

"It's g, u, t, k, Harry. I've read in Magical Measurements to Measure You Up that g.u.t.k. means Goblin Universal Time-Keeper, and a wizard named Willem von Orloge turned it into what Muggles called the Greenwich Mean Time. In fact, his plan was to dominate Muggles by controlling the way they keep track of time," she lectured to unheeding ears. Harry had been focused on the red runes lining the edge of one of the smaller swinging orbs instead, recognizing some of the strange symbols as identical to the ones he used to open his money briefcase and, if he remembered correctly, to the ones inscribed on his golden vault key.

Dinner was, as expected, a grand and noisy affair. Ron had dragged Harry to sit by his side, while the other two first year girls flanked Hermione in front of him. He laughed inwardly watching his friend roll her eyes with every giggle and whispered commentary Lavender and Parvati shared, amazed at the care with which she examined and picked her food. For some reason unknown to him, the perfectly edible shepherd's pie had failed her quality standards, and he more than gladly accepted her discarded piece.

The uneventful meal ended, however, as soon as the imposing figure of their Head of House abandoned the staff table and walked towards them. "Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Ms Granger, please come with me," Mrs McGonagall told them and stood by the Great Hall's double doors waiting.

"_Again?!_" chorused Parvati and Lavender, while Sean, Dean and Neville snickered and laughed. However the same older boy who had been rude to Harry earlier complained from his place on the long table about them losing even more points and dooming Gryffindor House. Hearing this, the Weasley twins that were openly laughing fell silent and shared a glance, before turning their heads to their brother, Harry and Hermione and winking at them.

The mentioned boys and one girl sighed and left the table, falling behind their professor and surprised when she led them down the main corridor instead of her office. Their initial surprise would be overshadowed upon reaching a medium sized room where a single, plain wooden chair stood in the middle, surrounded by Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Healer Pomfrey and two old wizards none of them recognized.

They gulped and startled as Professor McGonagall closed the door behind them, drawing a loud trumpeting from Ron, while Hermione and Harry shared a wide-eyed look at each other.

"Ah, I see what you meant, Minerva. Come closer, come closer!" the Headmaster said and rubbed his hands, looking like a child about to be given the largest ice-cream dessert ever.

Harry hadn't actually moved, yet he found himself suddenly up front and centre, since Hermione and Ron had taken a step back. He looked annoyed over his shoulder and obeyed Professor Dumbledore, coming to sit on the uncomfortable chair right under the only source of light in the room. His position under the scrutiny of six adult witches and wizards made him feel very, very small, and Harry sunk even further when they bent slightly forward, wands at hand, to poke his head.

"Severus, I cannot detect anything," Dumbledore whispered and used his long beard to clean some smudge from Harry's forehead.

"Of course you wouldn't! It's preposterous!" hissed Professor McGonagall in a similarly low voice.

"I know what I saw, the boy's a menace! He is pos--"

"Now, Severus, let us not prejudge Mr Potter. It _was_ an accident, after all?" the Headmaster interrupted, in a louder, more normal and even voice. "What say you, my friends?"

"The horns are quite evidently his own," the bearded unknown wizard answered.

"Antlers, dear Ulrich, those are antlers, not horns... Perhaps we could just cut them away? He's too young to have achieved it this far," added the other, who wore a pointy yellow hat and a silver monocle. Harry heard a distinct shriek coming from Hermione behind him.

"They look like horns to me," the wizard named Ulrich insisted.

"You really _have_ become a brainless baboon then!"

Professor Snape rolled his eyes and walked away to a corner of the room, not without casting another sneer at Harry first. While the two bickering wizards debated whether they were horns or antlers, Mrs McGonagall motioned for him to stand and called Ron forward. The group of assembled wizards ran a series of spells on his face while Hermione pulled on Harry's arm.

"Think about this, Harry. We've been immune to Madame Pomfrey's cure, but unlike Neville's our transfigurations were animal parts, not duplicate limbs. And that wizard accused the other of being a baboon!"

"Hmmm... And?"

"Honestly!" she exclaimed and then looked excited at him, "And Mrs McGonagall is an Animagus that turns into a house cat?"

"You believe we've turned into Animagusus... Animaguseses... Magisus... Oh forget it, that we can turn into animals?"

"Animagi, Harry. And yes, I clearly need more information, however that is my guess at the moment."

Madame Pomfrey conferred with the bickering wizards and they called for the three pupils to line themselves. The chair vanished with a flick of the Headmaster's hand and they aimed their wands, casting a silent incantation and shooting a pearly blast of magic at the first of them.

Pop!

"Wonderful!" clapped Professor Dumbledore while Harry ran a hand over his messy haired head, relieved at finding no sign of his ornaments, "Step ahead, Mr Weasley, if you please?" The wizards cast the spell again, repeating the bright lights.

Pop!

"I can speak!" Ron yelled and patted his face with both hands, "Look Harry, I can speak now!"

"Merlin help us all..." muttered Professor Snape, yet only Harry seemed to have been able to discern his acid remark.

"And what might be wrong with you, child?" the monocled wizard asked Hermione as she stepped forward too. She sighed and revealed the furry tail from under her robes, swishing it back and forth.

"It can be a most useful fifth limb, am I correct?" Ulrich told her and winked, confirming her suspicions regarding the men's Animagi status. She steeled herself for the spell and waited.

Pop!

Hermione couldn't believe she was actually _missing_ the tail, but as it was, it felt as part of herself had been pulled out. She had a new task however, to find out more about Animagi on top of the procurement Lavender had asked of her, and keeping up with school work, and helping Harry _while_ keeping him out of trouble.

Professor McGonagall escorted them back to the Great Hall and left without a word, causing both relief and confusion in the children's minds.

"D'you reckon it's going to grow again overnight?" asked Ron while pointing at his nose.

"I don't think so," Harry answered, "though it does feel like something is missing..."

"Craving for lost pastures already?"

"Funny," Harry snarled back. "No, it's more of a... Of a feeling that the world changed somehow?"

Ron tilted his head and scrunched his face, "You know, I'm missing the smells and sounds. I could hear the rumble of the castle shifting around, and I could smell food from anywhere!" he elaborated further.

Somehow the last part didn't surprise Harry as much, but in all honesty he also had been puzzled by the way things felt different. Perhaps Hermione was right and the strange rain had given them the same abilities as their Transfiguration Professor.

"Library," Hermione said, and began walking away.

"What for?" asked Ron.

"Don't you want to find out more about Animagi?" she replied with a grin.

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry laughed softly at the gleam in his blue eyes.

A quarter to nine in the evening and twenty seven books later, Harry fought a massive headache and had his temple plastered to the cool window pane, watching Ron snoring over the desk right across from Hermione, who shut another book close and huffed.

"Nothing!" she complained and threw her hands in the air, "There's absolutely _no_ information whatsoever beyond how rare and hard to become an Animagus is, and that they must be registered with the Ministry for Magic."

The last remaining group of Hogwarts students left the library as Madame Pince, the Chief Librarian, announced she was about to close the room and began to pace the bookshelves, stacking and rearranging volumes with her wand. Harry watched fascinated as the leather bound tomes flew up and down, briefly turning to show their titles to one another and find their correct place on the shelves.

"You could always ask Professor McGonagall, she doesn't like me but seems fond of you."

"Oh, Harry, it just happens she's only managed to find you in... Well, less than favourable situations?" she explained, trying to excuse Mrs Morewitt's friend and ease Harry's own feelings.

He shook his head and edged closer to her, before checking that Ron was still sound asleep. "Are you going to help me tonight?"

"I don't understand what's so secretive or mysterious about this. Why can't we ask our Head of House to conjure some instruments for you?"

"Because she'd believe I'm using my stupid fame and name to call for a favour, and it'll give the other boys more to laugh at me about... Or to hate me for..."

Hermione sighed and agreed with him, crafting a plan to hide close to the third floor until they heard the harp being played again. "Perhaps Mrs McGonagall enjoys playing but prefers to do so at night?"

"No, she was already sleeping yesterday evening, remember?" Harry told her, "I don't believe it's her, and maybe it's not even that harp we saw in the office."

Widening her eyes in understanding, Hermione appreciated Harry's thinking. Not only was McGonagall their Head of House and Transfiguration Professor, but also the Deputy Headmistress, meaning her duties and responsibilities were above and beyond those of a regular teacher, leaving her little time to stay up late and wander around forbidden corridors playing Albinoni into the night.

"What if it's something dangerous?"

"There's nothing to fear from music, Hermione. And like I said last night, this is a _school_, nothing dangerous around here!"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "What if it's a ghost?"

"Then we'll find out!"

"I only wish to be prepared," she said with a clenched jaw, "since we're _willingly and knowingly_ breaking curfew I want to be sure we aren't caught unaware!"

Harry shuffled a little on his seat but found no flaw in her worries. He then turned and woke Ron up to leave the library under the haunting gaze of Madame Pince. The doors slammed behind them as they walked out and he asked him if he was willing to help them locate the source of the mystery music.

Ron shrugged and said "okay" without asking any further, making Harry smile at his willingness. They started walking towards the third floor and went by Professor Flitwick, who waved at them enthusiastically, and an older witch wearing a green hat and earth-stained robes. Hermione looked twice at her and the lady smiled back.

"I've seen her somewhere..." Hermione murmured. "Oh, well... Let's find a locked and empty classroom then."

They dodged a few students late for nine thirty curfew and turned back when the sing-song chants of the ghost they'd encountered the night before reached their ears. Peeves would easily leave them as drenched as they were after being flushed from the tower. Finally reaching a more unkempt part of the castle, they were sure of being close enough to the off-limits corridor to hear the music.

Being someone curious by nature, Hermione was excited at the idea of exploring further and helping Harry solve his needs as well. She pushed an old and dishevelled door an peeked through the narrow crack, finding an old classroom full of empty cabinets and covered furniture.

"In here, it's perfect!"

Ron sprinted towards what looked like a large semi-circular couch covered by a white sheet and pulled it out, revealing an overstuffed velvet lounge in purple and light green upholstery. They sat on it and Hermione promptly pulled her portable library and work desk, writing and checking for information in one book or another.

In the meantime, Ron and Harry set out to uncover more furniture. Harry ignored his friend's shrieks when the table they overturned disturbed a few spiders, and shooed them away using the sleeve of his cloak. The pentagonal table was excellent for playing games, now all they needed was a chessboard or a deck of cards! Hermione, however, had another use for the table and set the two boys to work on their essays.

"_Why_ do you have to be such an annoying bookworm?"

"Because otherwise I wouldn't be who I am, Ronald," she replied evenly, pointing to a passage in The Healer's Companion regarding the bezoar and it's magical properties for them to work on. She hid her emotions well, but for a young boy whose self-defence mechanism was reading his aunt and uncle's body language to know when to escape dire punishment, Hermione's face was an open book.

"What did you get from that owl at Hagrid's?" he asked, trying to pull her attention away from the hurt she was clearly feeling.

"I had forgotten about it, actually," she turned and plunged both arms into her rucksack to retrieve the irregularly shaped package. Hermione began her investigation of it as she usually did, frowning for an instant, biting her lip the next and producing a silent "oh" the following.

After five minutes passed and the package remained unopened, Harry insisted, "Are you going to open it already?"

"Impatient much?" she asked back with a grin, undoing the twine and unfolding the brown paper to reveal a parchment envelope and an oddly shaped silver contraption. It was a metallic basin no wider than her palm, shaped like a pear where its wider area held a series of concentric rings of multiple colours, ranging from deep violet in the centre to the sharpest red in the outermost ring. The narrower end of the strange trinket was entirely carved in sinuous designs that glinted as she turned it on her hands.

"Dearest Hermione," she read out loud from the enclosed letter, "Please receive my congratulations for joining my good friend Minerva's Gryffindor House. I should have seen it coming after your brave efforts to help me and your later endeavour with--" She paused, unsure of revealing the following part of the paragraph, but relented after Harry and Ron gestured her to continue. "Your later endeavour with the exotic animals and those awfully dangerous Muggles. The puzzle before you was passed to my late husband by his great-uncle Brinn, a Gryffindor himself, and I hope it provides you many days of enjoyment."

"Does it say how to activate it?" Ron asked, quite eager to try it but Hermione snatched the shiny object away from his groping hands.

"Much as for your birthday gift, I cannot in good conscience provide you with any clues on how to solve the puzzle. What would the fun in that be?" she continued to read and mocked Ron by showing him her tongue. "I have taken the liberty to visit your uncles this afternoon, and they politely ask of you to write as soon as you can. Your cousin was quite insistent on it as well. I will never understand many of their Muggle customs," Ron snorted at that while Harry and she frowned, "yet Claire and I managed to share our passion for literature during five o'clock tea."

Pausing to reflect on this, Hermione wondered how fast could an owl travel from London to the Highlands. "It should have taken a full day for that owl to arrive then," she thought out loud.

"Owls can sort of apparate to cut distances, but I reckon only the smartest and powerful ones can do it over long stretches," explained Ron, "we've got this family owl named Errol, he's a real menace if you ask me..."

"I see. What about ravens?" she asked.

"Dunno..." he scrunched his face, "Never heard of one delivering a letter."

"Kettle does. Anyway, I'll write my relatives back and you'll see him do it."

"That bird must've been real expensive," Ron said, looking at his feet.

"Oh no, he's been my friend since I was five! He's been visiting me everyday in my attic ever sin--" Hermione cut herself before the boys could reach any misguided conclusions.

"Attic?" Harry asked with a look that scared her a bit. His green eyes had darkened in a mixture of fear and hatred she had seldom seen but in the eyes of her personal bully Laura in primary school. She only hoped it wasn't directed at her. "Why do you live in an attic, Hermione?"

She gulped and stalled for time, knowing she wouldn't be able to lie to Harry of all people, no matter how little she truly knew him.

"We've got a ghoul up in our attic. You ain't no ghoul, are you?!" Ron asked and slid his chair back.

"I'm all witch, Ron... You'll learn to differentiate one from the other in our Thaumagnosis lessons, hopefully?" she replied with a sarcastic tone.

"You haven't answered my question Hermione. Did your... D-do your parents make you live in an attic?" Harry asked, remembering his own bedroom under the stairs.

"No! I mean, my relatives don't really care that I chose to live up there. They were glad actually, but never locked me in the attic forcefully, if that's your question... Besides, it's larger than any bedroom with a wide round window that I can use to come and go as I please without bothering anyone," she told him, hoping to placate his anger.

Harry flinched when she hit the mark with her commentary about being locked inside the attic, for that was his greatest fear. He didn't know how he'd react if somebody threatened or hurt his source of hope for a better life, the girl whose phantom image helped him survive the Dursleys until his dreams came true by becoming a first year wizard in Hogwarts. He looked down and picked his quill, writing a few more words on parchment and thinking. Should he tell Hermione about his own ordeals within his uncles' house? He finally decided against it, for he wished no pity from her or Ron, or anyone else for that matter.

The stillness of the unused part of the castle was only broken by the scratching of quills, the occasional screech of a chair and the faint rustle of pages being turned. No further words were exchanged until around eleven, or so they calculated given that none had a watch to tell time, when faint steps were heard outside their claimed classroom.

Harry was the first to feel them and silently motioned for the others to be quiet and still; he placed his ear on the door and his eyes widened as the footsteps grew louder, at a steady pace until they faded away and he managed to breathe again.

"That was close," Hermione whispered and put her things together, urging the boys to do the same and get ready to find another room or an alcove in the off-limits corridor itself. They pulled the door slightly and peeked out through the crack, exiting on tip-toe and crossing the hallway in this fashion, taking refuge behind a rusty suit of armour.

A brown pair of eyes, followed by blue and then green popped from behind the old, spider web infested shield and they nodded to each other, taking a mad sprint around the dark and unlit corner leading to their goal that evening, coming to rest against a recess on the wall not big enough to hide the three of them if need be.

"What now?"

"Now we wait and hope Mrs Norris isn't keen on trailing pachyderms, felines or ruminants," Hermione said with a wink.

Knowing how excited his friends were at the idea of being Animagi brought a smile to Harry's mouth, and his mood was further lifted when the unmistakeable melody of a string instrument sounded from their left. "There it is!" he almost yelled.

Ron and Hermione waved at him to shut up and pulled forward, looking both ways and locating the source of the music. The three reached a simple wooden door identical to all others in that area, except the dust was disturbed by obvious signs of people coming in and out. Harry tried to pull the handle but it was locked, and he weighted the possibility of being caught if he used an alohomora spell.

"It's playing something I don't recognize now," he expressed while looking in through the keyhole on the door.

"That's Happy Leonora," Ron said. He watched the lack of recognition on his friends' faces and frowned, "you know, The Joyful Gryffin and the Golden Muffin?"

"Er..."

"How in Merlin's name could you _not_ know that? Every mum tells that tale and then sings the lullaby! Come little gryffin, pull away those claws..." he sang in a horrid voice.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and coughed, running her extended fingers across her throat to make him stop and hissing "I'm a Muggle-born, and Harry's mum was You-Know-Who's last victim, if you're so kind as to remember?"

"Oh, er... Right. Sorry about that Harry..."

Meow!

"Did you just meow at us, Hermione?"

"No!" she squealed.

"Lumos?" Harry hesitantly cast with his wand, instantly illuminating the last pair of eyes he wished to see in his life right now. Those of a certain mangy cat belonging to Mr Filch.

"_Alohomora!_" they shouted together and shoved the cat as far away as possible before entering the room and slamming the door shut from the inside. Ron and Harry fought each other to look through the keyhole while Hermione illuminated the darkened room and gasped, taking a step back while the lullaby continued to play.

A muffled and ragged voice they already knew as the Caretaker's came from beyond the door, "What's this, Mrs Norris? You know this area's forbidden, no pupils out here... Come my sweet!"

Harry released a shuddering breath upon hearing this and persistent meows fading away, and leaned his forehead to the old door, mimicking Ron's stance. He was disturbed however by someone pulling on the sleeve of his cloak.

"Harry?"

"What is it Hermione?" he asked and pulled his sleeve away, while peeking through the keyhole again.

"Harry!"

"_What?_"

Hermione took his head while he was still crouched and turned it back, almost snapping his neck but certainly grabbing his attention. "That's what!" she said and pointed to a huge three-headed dog the size of a lorry sleeping in the middle of the room, while the harp they had seen in Professor McGonagall's office played by itself upon a small side table.

"Oh bother!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Language Ronald! And for goodness sake be quiet, don't wake the cerberus!"

It was too late however, since their presence had most likely disturbed the charm on the wooden harp and it's melody began to slow down, coming to a stop in mere seconds. Three madly beating hearts provided a cacophony of drums loud enough to wake the dead, let alone a sleeping cerberus whose nightly entertainment had been stopped. One giant canine head opened a weary eye, another flapped its ears around while the last yawned and suffocated the children with its foul breath.

Three annoyed sets of dark, beastly eyes met another three pairs of terrified human orbs, and the cerberus growled. It growled so deeply the very walls shook and the harp fell off the side table close to Harry's right foot, chipping its frame and loosing one or two strings in the process.

"Do something!" Ron pleaded.

"What can I do?" asked Harry, who was rooted to the spot.

"You're the musician Harry, _play_ something with that!" Hermione commanded and sunk even further against the wooden door.

Harry took a tentative side step and bent down to retrieve the broken instrument, under two of the heads' watchful gaze. They growled and barred their huge teeth at him when he stood back up, but his first notes on the harp seemed to calm the beast a little. Replaying Happy Leonora without the use of the lower octave was tricky but his efforts seemed to appease at least two of the dogs, while the third still barred its teeth.

"Open the door, _very_ slowly," he asked.

Ron pulled it open and they began pacing backwards, huddled together while Harry continued to play a melody, until two more golden strings snapped. The cerberus didn't enjoy the interruption and sprung back on its feet, all three heads ferociously staring at them.

Harry, Hermione and Ron shared a terrified glance. "_Run!_"

At this the cerberus launched straight forward, barking madly and pulling its massive frame with hind legs as strong as the steam engine that pulled the Hogwarts Express, pulling so hard on its chains that they snapped from the stone walls.

The deafening roar was scary enough, but watching the beast crashing through the wooden door behind them caused all the adrenaline and magic in their bodies to flow down and speed up tiny legs to speeds they'd never achieved before in their lives. Hermione surprised the boys by running faster than them, despite the heavy rucksack and mane of hair floating behind her, but all three managed to put some distance from the blue cerberus when they turned a corner and the massive beast slid sideways, unable to negotiate the sharp curve and slamming against the wall, shaking portraits towards the floor and smashing a suit of armour that barely managed to put its metal arms forward.

Harry continued to clutch the damaged harp in his hand and Ron had the unfortunate idea of looking back over his shoulder, only to miss a step and straggle behind his friends, and consequently falling closer to those huge chewing mandibles. Hermione began shooting sparks and levitating benches on the beast's path, hoping to slow it down, but nothing seemed to work.

One more minute of running and they would be too tired to take a single stride forward, their predator was still gaining ground and they were yet to find a door sturdy enough to protect them. Turning left by the statue of the great Curse-Breaker Henry Herbert, they ran straight towards a pale and hunchbacked old man holding a torch, and judging by the presence of Mrs Norris by his side, it was Mr Filch.

"What's the meaning of--"

"Run, Mr Filch! Run!" yelled Hermione, who sprinted past him with Harry and Ron hot on her tail.

"_By the Morrigan's bloody corpses!_" shrieked the man when he saw the gigantic beast appear and bulge against the wall, downing more portraits and tumbling whatever statues stood on its way.

Wheezing loudly and with impressive speed for his apparent age and unhealthy condition, the Caretaker overtook the children with his beloved cat in his arms and disappeared behind a thick tapestry on the wall. Harry wondered if they should follow him but Hermione hadn't paid any attention to the old man's escapade.

Suddenly a whistling louder than what a ship in the docks could make drowned the hallways. The cerberus broke its chase and slid several yards forward, trying to turn and find the origin of that whistling, an opportunity the boys and girl took advantage of to continue running and turn right towards the main staircases, bumping into something large and furry.

"Hagrid!" they said in unison from the floor, where they had landed an their buttocks.

"Yeh three! 'Ave yeh been playin' with Fluffy?" he said while walking towards the blue cerberus. All its three heads were now focused on the enormous man and it wagged its tail around, knocking a set of swords and couple of paintings to the ground with a loud clank.

"Fluffy?" Ron shrieked, "You named that... That... That monster, _Fluffy_?!"

"We're doomed!" Hermione cried and buried her face in her hands, "This is all my fault, I _knew_ this was rash! And I _knew_ it'd be dangerous! But oh no, there's nothing dangerous behind any doors in a school, he says. And I listened! _Well what do you call that?!_" she yelled at Harry and pointed at the cerberus that was now rolling on its back and begging for a belly scratch from Hagrid.

Harry shrunk as far a possible against the wall and opened his mouth, but was cut by Hermione's pointed finger.

"I don't care how important you are to me. I don't care how many times I've _dreamt_ of befriending you. I don't care if I _lose_ you after so many years wishing that you were real, but if you ever, _ever_ jump head-first into another rule-breaking, deadly adventure instead of swallowing your pride and asking McGonagall for help I'll hex you so badly not even Dumbledore will be able to save your skin!"

"Ask for help regarding what matters, if I may be so bold?"

Ron jumped on hearing his Head of House speak behind his back while Hermione and Harry took a step away from each other. Harry looked so dejected Hermione felt her eyes watering, but if she was going to be friends with him for a lifetime, she had to make sure he _lasted_ a lifetime, by not getting himself killed at the first impulsive thought that crossed his rash brain. In his own mind however, the boy who never had a friend only saw his own failure, how it was his fault they were going to be expelled and were almost turned into giant dog chow. He disappointed her and it hurt so deeply he wished to go back to the Dursleys and lock himself in the cupboard under the stairs.

"And why do you have my clàrsach in your hand, Mr Potter?"

"We wanted to find the source of the music," Harry explained and handed the broken harp to the older witch.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand and silently repaired the instrument. "Why?"

"B-because I thought there'd be other instruments there, and I missed playing so much... I'm the only one to blame professor, please don't expel my friends, please? I'll just collect my things and--"

"Nonsense Potter," she said and ran a skilled hand over the clàrsach, causing a chromatic scale to erupt from it, "detention and five points each from Gryffindor will be your punishment for wandering the castle after hours. Now it's my duty as Deputy Headmistress to inform that if you wish to present a written or verbal complaint regarding the danger you were put in because of the school's negligence, please do so now or tomorrow at the earliest."

If blinking eyes made a sound, they would be only thing disturbing the castle at that moment. Ron and Hermione shared a glance after the silence and shrugged, telling the Deputy Headmistress they didn't wish to complain. Turning to Harry, they saw him visibly relax and he shook his head negatively as well.

They were told to wait for her return and witnessed Hagrid struggling with Fluffy, who was taking turns licking his bearded face using head after head. Professor McGonagall then disappeared into the corridor they had just exited at such a hasted pace, and Hermione began patting herself.

"Oh no! I'm missing my new puzzle!" Hermione complained while searching her pockets, "You stay here, I'll just retrace my steps and be back before you know it."

Ron waved her off easily but Harry frowned in concern, yet he didn't dare object for his actions had already caused enough trouble. He wondered if the intimidating girl from before was an angered Hermione or just an annoyed one, if it was the latter, he sincerely wished never to see her angry at all.

The bushy-haired girl illuminated her way using her wand, looking around for her trinket until a reflection caught her eye. She sped up and smiled upon finding the silver puzzle underneath an overturned bench. Hermione secured it inside her robe pocket and was about to turn back when a murmur reached her ears. She dropped to the floor, knowing sound waves travelled further and clearer over long distances very close any surface.

"...lying to you, he's obviously after it!" the drawling voice she recognized as Professor Snape spoke.

"It was an honest mistake! He's probably homesick after all," rebutted Mrs McGonagall.

What shocked her however, was the Headmaster's voice and what he had to say after a few seconds of silence. "Be that as it may, I'm afraid we must keep a closer watch over him. And persuade the other children to stay away from Mr Potter for the time being."

She held her breath and crawled back, removed her boots, tied the cloak tightly to avoid making any noises and ran back to Harry and Ron. Surprise lined the boys' faces when she arrived panting, barefooted, holding her boots in one hand and looking back every couple of strides. Hermione ignored the "mental" comment from Ron and sat on the floor, untying her cloak and putting her boots back on. Should she tell Harry of what she heard? And what exactly are they afraid he was going to find? Perhaps Fluffy was there to guard something even more dangerous than the gigantic cerberus itself!

Within minutes Mrs McGonagall returned, collected the three troublesome children and surreptitiously pushed Harry to her right, leaving Hermione and Ron to her left, much to their individual distaste. They walked silently and reached the Gryffindor Tower, where the older witch spoke the password and pushed them inside. Harry looked briefly at Hermione and mouthed "I'm sorry", before taking heavy steps towards the boys' dormitory, followed by his yawning friend. She fought the urge to run and hug him again, but also knew he had to understand the consequences of his actions. Cause and consequence, the Sorting Hat had said, and she thoroughly agreed with it.

* * *

Notes:

1.- I apologize for much about nothing again. This was only their second day and my family will kill me if I make this "one chapter, one day" a habit. That said, hopefully I'll be able to type a week or more of time in one single chapter from here on.  
2.- The harp is a Scottish Clàrsach, you may find information and photos of that old instrument on the ever expanding Internet.  
3.- Thaumagnosis is a non-canon class; from "thaumaturge" (wizard) and "gnosis" (knowledge); wizard biology, requisite for a Healer career.  
4.- Henry Herbert was the first Earl of Carnarvon, whose descendant George Herbert (Fifth Earl of Carnarvon) financed the archaeological dig and opened the tomb of King Tutankhamen, in Egypt. We all know how well _that_ ended...  
5.- The Morrigan was a goddess related to sovereignty, prophecy, war and death on the battlefield in Irish and Celtic mythology. Her triple nature is very appealing and complex. More information on the web of webs.  
6.- The boa will lose it's legs, eventually.


	9. Chapter 9: L'Oiseau de Feu

**Chapter 9: L'Oiseau de Feu**

"_Lizards leg, and howlets wing, get off that bed and dance the swing!_" yelled the alarm clock and the jumble of bells and whistles began, announcing it was seven o'clock in the morning.

"Lavender!" Parvati yelled and pulled a pillow over her head, "Stop that tormenting thing, please!"

Another pillow flew over Hermione's bed, who was expecting this and was still buried under her covers. She laughed at the unintelligible gibberish the blond girl was muttering and greeted Parvati good morning, climbing out of bed and opening the window to see if Kettle was somewhere close by.

"What happened to you last night?" asked Parvati.

"Well... Ahem, you see Headmaster Dumbledore called for help regarding the strange transfigurations we developed after the potions accident, and we are now animal-limbs-free!"

"Ahm s wuutud yah," Lavender mumbled and yawned, pulling a light pink pair of Muggle trousers and a white blouse along with matching underwear from her expanded drawer in the shared wardrobe.

"May I ask you something personal, Lavender?"

The girl stood stock still, one eye closed and the other twitching open. Hermione heard Parvati whisper "that means yes, you can ask," and she asked how come she enjoyed Muggle clothing if she was a pureblooded witch.

"Yoel erbout, Prvatii..."

"I've never heard of someone taking so long to jumpstart her or his brain in the morning!" Hermione commented, watching Lavender leave towards the lavatory.

"Jump and start?"

"Hmmm... Charm your mind awake?" she rephrased, hoping to convey the same meaning.

"Ah! Yes, indeed, she's _quite_ slow in the mornings," Parvati explained, and moved on to her friend's obsession. "Lavender likes to feel rebellious, you see? That's why she enjoys all those Muggle things."

Hermione smiled at the mental picture of wizard parents horrified at finding their daughter listening to blaring rock music on a portable radio while wearing faded jeans and a Muggle sports team cap on her head. Just then Kettle brought her out of it by diving through the open window and gliding around the room, landing on her shoulder and cawing brightly.

"Hello! Would you mind waiting with Blacksnout while I take a bath?" she asked the raven and allowed it to perch on the beam over her bed. Hermione had written four different letters for her uncles, her cousin, her friend Annie and Mrs Morewitt, wishing to prove Ron Weasley that a raven can and will deliver post. The last letter was the hardest to write, however, for she now knew of her witch friend's family being murdered by You-Know-Who and his supporters more than a decade ago. Hermione also understood why she was so reluctant to allow her to purchase the only W.E.A.K. book edition available in her store. The gruesome information contained in the Wizengamot Enquiries was shocking enough for an adult, let alone a young girl.

Last night, or early this morning, as it was nearing one o'clock, a weeping Hermione had finished her fifth attempt at thanking Miranda for her gift and telling her about her first day of school while sitting in bed, curtains closed and under the shining light of her wand. And she had wept for Harry and his family as well. Wept while reading the description of his entire family being found dead. Grandparents and great-uncles; cousins murdered week after week, leading to Albus Dumbledore's testimony of what he witnessed that Halloween night. Hermione wondered if Harry knew the circumstances of his survival: Found under the rubble, close to the lifeless bodies of his mother and father. It was so similar to her own situation, yet so different at the same time.

She shook herself away from the reverie and cut the flow of bubbly, caramel flavoured water before stepping out of the bathtub. Drying herself in front of the charmed fog-less mirror, which seemed to respect her need for privacy by staying silent and avoiding the typical harsh comments, Hermione eyed and ran water-wrinkled fingers over the length of the gash marring her neck, trailing down the collarbone and below to her chest. She briefly wondered if Madame Pomfrey or one of the other Healers could magically remove it, but frowned upon the idea for it was a reminder of her parents, and as much a part of herself as her very heart was.

* * *

"Wahhh! _Spiders!_ G-get 'em off me!" yelled someone to Harry's left, waking him up with a start from the weirdest dream he'd ever had in his life. He was riding on the back of the enormous cerberus from last night, only it was deep black and sported but a single head, and then the dog arched and sent him flying through the air over some people but he couldn't see their faces. They had been calling for him to come down but something kept pulling him up, higher and higher to the stars above until some bird with large red wings rapped and knocked him heavily on the head, plummeting his body back to Earth and into cold waters, only it wasn't really seawater but a mist of sorts.

He remembered falling and screaming, then trying to swim in his dream, but everything was upside down, the moment he tried to push forward he would go back, and the more he aimed for the surface, the deeper he would sink! Brightly coloured talking fish had surrounded him, mocking his regrown antlers and one grey fish with a curious bun on its head scolded Harry about minding his manners. Strange murmurs sounded around him and the shoal scattered away. The voices came from nowhere, and an emerald fire broke in the distance, spreading and throwing purple flames over the bottom of the sea. Before he could make out the shape those flames were creating, however, his room-mate Ron had began yelling about spiders.

"Ach! Shut it Weasley!" demanded Seamus from within his closed bed. At the same time a black and white globe zoomed past Harry's four-poster and hit Ron squarely on the side of his head, bouncing off into Neville's bed and drawing a loud shriek from him.

Harry looked around trying to find the origin of the football that had just flown over his bed, meeting Dean's amused face. He had his arms forward, still in position after throwing the ball on Ron.

"I thought wizards didn't know the first thing about football," he commented and watched Neville poke the leather sphere with the tip of his wand while shielding himself with a pillow, as if the spotted ball were a wild animal ready to pounce on him.

"I've been living a Muggle life with my mum, only my father had wizard blood. Mum never hid it from me though, and after I made the goal posts dodge the football at school she explained what little she knew about magic," Dean told Harry in between yawns, "and I'm a West Ham fan, by the way!" he added, pointing at the poster on the wall behind his bed.

Ron had turned and fallen asleep again, probably tired from last night, and Harry decided to let him be. His friend had faced danger twice in a row now, first almost falling to death from the castle's tallest tower, and then almost chewed to death by a gigantic three-headed dog named _Fluffy_ of all things! It only made him like Hagrid even more, however.

The memory brought forth Hermione and her thorough scolding. "She said I'm important to her," he thought and smiled a silly grin. "Me! Worthless Harry matters to her!" he repeated and then glanced at a thick leather bound book underneath his pillow. The photo album Hagrid had given him and that he had carefully browsed until the early hours of the morning.

Harry remembered how he had quickly closed his bed hangings and lit his wand soon after McGonagall pushed them inside the tower, sitting cross-legged with the album on his knees. He didn't really know how much time he had sat there, staring at the gift. It was a key to his past, to parents he didn't know a single thing about. "They never even told me your names," he whispered and dug a shaky index finger under the cover.

He wondered if it was true his appearance was similar to his father's, and tried to split himself in two, one nose to dad, one pair of eyes to mum; unruly hair to dad, tiny mouth to mum. But then he found it quite unsettling to imagine a bald, green-eyed mother and a faceless black-haired father. Trying a different approach, he placed green-eyes on his aunt Petunia's face, but the shock was even greater, making him gag at that particular mental image.

Sighing deeply, he steeled himself, closed his eyes and pulled the cover open. The sound of rustling paper assaulted his ears and his hands touched a fine and soft tissue, pulling it to the left and dismissing it as interspersed protection for the photos inside. He ran fingers over a slick photo, its size almost as big as the page, and with tremendous effort opened his eyes.

The first shock came as the many people pictured in it moved, the trees on the background moved against the wind, and a hapless bird that flew over a tall man's head was forever stuck in a strange loop. The second and deeper shock came as the people in the picture huddled together to look up at him, with questioning glances first, and then with the warmest of smiles, the likes of which only Hermione and Hagrid had ever given him.

"That's me!" Harry had exclaimed, hoping none of his room-mates was awakened by his sudden outburst. He looked at the couple in the centre of the photo, they were holding a rather chubby baby with a tuft of jet black hair and green eyes. His forehead was devoid of any markings but it was undoubtedly him. He was even wearing a lopsided tiny pointy hat, with little stars and a golden comet that flew around its surface!

Chancing a glance at the couple holding him, he smiled back. Tears stung his eyes but he smiled. Harry's young mother had long, flowing red hair and a face so soft he'd never have related her to aunt Petunia if he didn't know otherwise. She bounced his baby-self on her leg and had grabbed on to the man next to her as soon as Harry looked at her. The man, his father, had his very same hair and nose; he sank one knee on the grass and hugged his wife with his left arm, while waving tentatively at the real Harry from his two-dimensional rendering.

The stinging in his eyes had turned to relief once he let go and cried freely. No one would judge him weak or punish him for crying in there, the shadows and fears could never break through the protective gaze his real family held for him from beyond the cold, glossy paper. "Hello," he whispered, "I'm Harry."

He watched the photographed wizards smile and whisper to each other, then posing for the camera again. His eyes travelled to the bottom of the page, where a series of names written in elegant, slanted golden script floated over a black background. Harry noticed they followed the order in which everyone was standing in the photo, but was intrigued by the fact three spaces remained vacant. He looked up again and saw three empty places among his pictured family, and while most of the assembled were still beaming up at him and occasionally waving, a few were looking over the edge, looking for something or someone.

Harry shook his head and turned away from the memory of the photo album under his pillow, stifling a yawn and laughing at Neville's amazed face. He was watching Dean bounce the football on his feet without letting it drop.

"Are you sure the ball is _not_ charmed?" Neville asked.

"That's how muggles play," Dean replied while grabbing his football back up and shaking Seamus awake.

Pulling random clothes from his trunk, Harry walked to the lavatory and prepared himself to enjoy the second day of classes. His mind wandered again, this time thinking of Professor McGonagall's reaction to their actions last night. Not only had he pulled his friends into the forbidden corridor, they had released a giant man-eating three-headed dog and destroyed who knows how many paintings, statues and other castle furniture when running for their lives! And yet, _she_ was the one to apologize on behalf of the school.

The warm water soothed his cramped legs, until his confusion turned to realization when he formed a complete image of the room where the charmed harp lulled the cerberus to sleep, as Hermione had called the blue furry beast. There was a trapdoor under it! Harry understood right then and there why they hadn't been expelled. The cerberus was _not_ the reason pupils where told that area of the castle was out of bounds. Fluffy was guarding something even more dangerous under him!

They didn't want people investigating, because they would find whatever dangers were hidden in the castle. Concerned parents demanding safety in the greatest school of magic in the world is something the Headmaster would really wish to avoid, Harry believed. Having bad previous experience with adults and Headmasters before, and despite the initial image of a benevolent, grandfatherly Professor Dumbledore, if not downright off his rocker, Harry felt there was something very wrong about the whole situation.

* * *

Hermione and Harry had little time to chat that morning. No sooner than Harry sat in front of her at the Gryffindor table, Percy Weasley walked up to him and led him to a new place on the table, explaining his schedule of detentions with a tone of voice bordering contempt. The only uplifting event at breakfast was the look in Nicholas Stumpwood's face when every time he looked, sneered at, or commented on Harry being an attention-seeking brat who was dooming Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup, his pants would erupt in flames. The first time it happened he looked around as if someone had done it on purpose, but as he hastily doused the flames with his pumpkin juice and glared across the table at Harry again, the fire erupted and burnt his buttocks once more.

"You snotty little--" the seventh year named Stumpwood began, much as he had done the day before, but the smell of burning cloth invaded the air again. "_A-aguamenti!_" he yelled and drenched himself, under the rioting laughter of several Gryffindors, including two identical red-headed boys who gave Harry a double thumbs up.

Morning classes had began with a boring hour and a half of Linguistic Sorcery. Professor August de Bonécrit was a stout French wizard dressed in impeccable teal robes under a fancy patterned cloak, who introduced himself as a Modern Languages Master. His thick accent and scrambled words did nothing to gain the confidence of the assembled pupils, however, and the wand escaping the grip of his hand every time he turned to point at something on the floating blackboards only served to draw strings of joyous laughter.

Modern, it turned out, were tongues as old as Latin or Greek, and the professor explained how language works for wizards as catalyst for the intent of the spell given the magical associations between the ideas the word evoked and the phonetic sounds it produced. Latin incantations were powerful because of their ancient and timeless nature, whereas other incantations drew from languages that the wizard isn't familiarized with, but are words that can provoke the desired effect because of their magical signature and contributions to the formation of the spell.

Harry was lost in a sea of unknown alphabets and incomprehensible grammar rules, and worst of all was they were made to sit by name in individual tables, leaving all his friends sitting far away from him. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose again, trying to stem the ache in his eyes from reading the unintelligible script on the walls.

As the bell chimed for the end of the lesson, Harry watched Ron, Hermione and Neville walking towards him, but his name was called forth by Professor de Bonécrit. The wizard waved his friends away using some French words that had Hermione fuming and throwing back very murderous glances at him.

"How dares he!" Hermione seethed while walking to the Muggle Studies classroom on the first floor. Being called an _overachieving midget_ simply because she could fend herself in the basics of Romance and Germanic tongues was insulting enough, but being dismissed away from Harry and compared to annoying moths craving for light was too much. She huffed again while Ron and Neville kept following her at the safe and prudent distance of ten paces behind.

If she didn't know better, she would believe every professor and prefect had been instructed to keep Harry busy and isolated. "Oh wait, I _do_ know better!" she hissed at no one, stomping her feet on the ground and turning to find her six Gryffindor schoolmates, minus Harry, gaping at her. "_What?_"

Neville actually shrieked and Parvati leaned closer to Lavender. Ron, Seamus and Dean took a step back and quickly began talking about Quidditch and its endless virtues. She turned again and silently pointed to the room their schedules indicated for Muggle Studies. The Gryffindors scrambled to get inside, pushing and shoving the Hufflepuffs out of their way.

"Nagging bossy-boots!"

"I _heard_ that, Ronald!" she yelled into the room. Hermione remained outside waiting for Harry, who finally appeared, clutching his schedule in one hand and looking around for references by the other end of the hallway.

She called him over and made to enter the classroom, suddenly finding herself face to face with a tall and skinny witch, who was wearing a feathered hat instead of the usual pointed version, while her attire consisted of a dress under an overcoat, instead of a cloak. She had a wand at hand and proceeded to transfigure the battered wooden benches into colourful plastic chairs and synthetic leather puffs.

The lesson was amusing but they were separated once again, this time because Professor Charity Burbage split the room between muggle-borns, half-bloods and purebloods. Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves on different sides all of the sudden, because Mrs Burbage wanted each group to explain the experience of muggles and their primitive ways from their particular points of view. Hermione and a boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley were the only muggle-born pupils there, and they ended having cramps on their bellies out of laughing so hard at the ideas professed by their classmates. For his part, Harry didn't feel very happy about her laughing with another boy instead of him. In fact, his anger surged and he walked away as fast a he could as soon as the lesson ended.

"I'm going ahead for lunch," Harry said and walked away alone, leaving Hermione confused on his wake.

"What's with him?" Neville asked, searching for his quill under the transfigured benches. She had the same question in her mind, and sped up to find Harry. Unfortunately, he was already under the clutches of the foul mood swings Hermione now associated with her friend; he sat silent and withdrawn by the end of the table. He could be happy one minute and angry the next, or then plunge into a sadness so deep she wanted to hug him with all her might and make it better.

History of Magic that evening was a surprise in that they had a ghost for a teacher. Professor Binns heard the bell and began to recite their History book word by word, in a very, very monotonous voice. He didn't even acknowledge that only a handful few of his pupils were sitting, nor did he ask for their names. Hermione had, as usual, taken a front seat but Harry and Ron sat on the back. She sighed and wondered what to do with the knowledge that the Headmaster and other authority figures had decided to isolate him, and feared she had done something to anger him as well.

The depressed bespectacled boy didn't really care for talking at the moment, despite Ron's insistence. Harry wanted to share his conclusions about Fluffy and whatever it was the beast protected, but the words from Percy Weasley and Professor de Bonécrit rang on his mind. "You're supposed to be an example, being who you are" and "Ze burden of being a 'ero is that eet makes you special, different des autres," they had said. But he didn't want to be anything more than a regular boy with friends and school responsibilities! Well, he wanted to be friends with Hermione most of all, and fulfil his school work as best he could to prove her he was a good student, even if he'd never be as good as she was.

That thought brought back the memory of how happy she looked sharing a laugh with that Justin boy. Harry wanted nothing more than to erase the laugh off the boy's face, but doing so meant stooping down to Dudley's level, and forcing something out of someone by intimidation felt frankly disgusting to him. "Am I being too jealous?" he pondered to himself. Of course he was, Harry concluded. Hermione was _his_ guardian angel, the kind of protector he had heard Aunt Petunia teach Dudley about, making him pray and give thanks at night or before meals.

Of course the one time Harry asked his aunt about it she had yelled "God and his angels don't care for the likes of you!" and Uncle Vernon had glared at his wife, shouting at her to stop with the fanatical nonsense. Harry didn't understand why they fought about it and sometimes caught glimpses of Aunt Petunia talking to Dudley about saints and lords, but only when his uncle wasn't at home, while his portly pig-in-a-wig of a cousin simply focused on the telly.

He was surprised when the kind nurse at his primary school mentioned that he must have a guardian angel watching his back, what with his constant injuries. Asking to know more, Harry listened to the nice lady explain her faith in the unyielding love all men and women received from God. As Harry grew older and he began to understand that unlike the other children, he wasn't loved or accepted in Uncle Vernon's house, he tried to ask and thank God for whatever loving he could spare. God had never replied, until he put a brown-haired girl in his path.

Meeting Hermione as he did, and the passion for music Harry developed afterwards convinced him that there was truth in religion. Then learning of all the beautiful music dedicated to God that composers of all musical genres had created was only further confirmation that there was someone up there. His mind briefly replayed some works he heard at school by John Taverner and Sir John Tavener, one from the early sixteenth century and the other a modern musician, yet both wrote religious themes. Harry always confused both men's names, and snickered at the coincidence.

He sighed and returned to the present, taking some final notes regarding ferocious goblins and a war that happened a few centuries ago, before picking his things and walking to his detention. Hermione and Ron had also been punished, but each was given different chores and professors to serve detention with. Worse still, they were separated like this even inside the Gryffindor Common Room, each being given large amounts of additional assignments in different subjects.

The week flowed into Wednesday with a terribly disappointing Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson taught by Professor Quirinus Quirrel first thing in the morning, where Harry had to soothe his headaches more than once and Hermione, who was sitting in the front row again, couldn't understand how in the world they were supposed to learn to defend themselves _from_ the Dark Arts if not even a single example of them was given in the entire length of the syllabus.

Professor Quirrel retreated as quickly as his trembling feet could carry him out the back door of the classroom once class was over, walking backwards and scanning the room on all directions before slamming it shut. The children expelled a breath of relief, commenting on the foul smell emanating from that purple turban now that could freely sample the air around them.

Thaumagnosis and a tremendously embarrassing first lesson on the fundamental differences between witches and wizards, as taught by Professor Thalamus Marrow, who was also a trained Healer, left them without much appetite for lunch that day. Particularly _not_ while in the company of _any_ members of the opposite gender, and every time one of the boys or girls glanced at each other, their faces would reach a deep shade of red that actually outshone Ron's hair.

By the time of their first Arithmancy lesson at two o'clock, Neville had grown tired of acting as messenger between Hermione, Harry and Ron, not to mention his nerves and shyness took the best of him, no matter how many times he interrupted one of them to relay whatever bit of conversation he was asked to.

Hermione had been prompting Neville to ask and see what the matter with Harry was, although she was certain it had to be related with the fact school work and detentions were keeping him isolated. Ron was annoyed at Harry and had already complained about his avoiding him, and Professor Arista Vector looked angry from telling the assembled Gryffindors to be quiet for the fifth time in the first fifteen minutes of her lesson already. The professor had also paired them by herself, leaving Harry next to a pupil from Ravenclaw House, which only served to deepen the children's discontent.

Further separation continued on Thursday, when Professor Peter Carver introduced Ancient Runes to them. Hermione and Harry almost jumped out of their skins when the wizard flicked his wand and seven rune covered rock monoliths dropped out of the ceiling, cracking the stone floor below and obliterating an unfortunate wooden table on their smashing gravity induced journey. It certainly _captured_ the children's attention, however many kept taking upward glances just to make sure no further menhirs were dangling dangerously over their heads.

Harry's already slanted calligraphy was quite jagged and forceful after the shower of stone monuments, and he ended breaking his quill twice while looking up over his head, something that amused Draco Malfoy immensely. "Well, well, Potter! Why don't you scavenge for a piece of burnt wood to write, suitable for the stupid primitive half-breed brute you are?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" hissed Harry under his breath, careful not to draw the professor's attention.

"You could always ask the unworthy mudblood freak to teach you how to write properly... Oh, my mistake, she _ditched_ you, did she not?" he taunted again, while Professor Carver explained some basic runes behind a granite monolith.

Those words hit him like a ton of bricks straight to the chest, because Harry found some truth to them in that she _was_ distant, although he had also stayed away in whatever precious few minutes they could spend together between classes and detention.

"As a matter of fact," Draco drawled and scratched his chin, "it's come to my attention that _all_ your pathetic little friends have turned their backs on you!"

"That's it, _pinchicato_!" Harry incanted and flicked his wand, aiming for the platinum blonde boy's arms. Draco was hit and began to rub his arms up and down, moaning and calling for the professor.

"Owww! Professor Carver, sir? Potter _hexed_ me!"

"Mr Potter, didn't I say there is _no_ need for wands today? Put it away at once, and five points will be taken from Gryffindor for using it on a fellow student!" said Professor Carver. He briefly scanned Draco's arms with his own wand and frowned, "Mr Malfoy, that can hardly be considered a hex at all. Or is your skin so fair and sensible that a simple pinching spell causes you so much pain?"

Half the people in the classroom broke into laughter, but the Slytherins glared back at the Gryffindors in a silent battle of wills. Harry felt ashamed for loosing further points and sunk deep in his seat, dropping his face on his hands and expelling a shaky breath.

Class was dismissed as the magical bell rang, he picked his things absent-mindedly until a small, warm hand he could recognize anywhere, even in total darkness, grabbed his own and pulled. Harry stiffened and tried to let go, but Hermione looked straight at him and squeezed harder. Her face was pure determination, and he knew nothing could stop her intentions, not even the professor calling his name.

"Please go ahead, Ms Granger. I need a word with Mr Potter," he said, dismissing Hermione.

"I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience do so, Professor Carver."

The robust wizard blinked, perhaps unused to anyone contesting his orders in class, let alone a first year girl. "Ms Granger, I'll repeat myself more clearly. Please leave this room now!"

"I'm sorry professor, but as of right now, your authority cannot mandate me to leave, since I am doing nothing against the school rules and your lesson has effectively ended," she replied while pulling her rucksack to the other shoulder, "If anything, I'm merely being extremely rude by refusing to obey your request, sir."

Harry paled and looked askance at Hermione, trying to figure out what she was doing. His surprise doubled when Mr Carver sighed and one corner of his mouth lifted in a small slanted smirk; he silently waved them away and turned, levitating the monoliths back to the ceiling.

Once outside the classroom, Harry bowed his head and was about to ask Hermione what happened, when she pulled him to the floor in front of her. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Harry. Why are you avoiding me-- I mean us? Don't you see that the staff is isolating you on purpose?"

He was startled by the last question, and his memory of the past couple of days only confirmed that guess. "Do you truly believe they're doing it on purpose? I mean splitting us in class and asking for me to stay behind?"

Hermione looked in all directions, and scooted back under a tapestry out of view of any portraits, calling for Harry to join her. "I _know_ they're doing it on Headmaster Dumbledore's orders, I'm sorry Harry..."

"But-- But why?"

"That I don't know, I only... I overheard the Headmaster saying, in his words, that we should be persuaded to stay away from you," she explained in a soft voice. "Now tell me. Why are you avoiding me even inside our common room?"

Harry felt uncomfortable and scratched the nape of his neck, trying to avoid looking into those amazing brown eyes. He sighed and shifted on the hard stone floor. "Y-- You... Er... I mean... Well, I... Hmmm..."

"One word at a time, Harry," she said with a smile, "You..."

"I... I was jealous of that Finch-Fletchley boy. There, I said it! He even has a fancy name and all..."

"Harry! Why would you be jealous of him?"

"'Cause he's a muggleborn too, and you were laughing together and he's smarter than me and--"

"Harry, Harry stop!" she said and grabbed his hand again. "Do you remember what happened in the courtyard? How we promised to be friends for life?"

He nodded in silence.

"Well I _will_ keep that promise until my last breath, Harry. So what if Justin knows more about muggles than you? I don't care for him the way I care for _you_, he's _not_ the one that helps me through the nightmares, he's _not_ the one that needed no words to tell me I had a friend who accepted me as I am, when nobody wanted me..."

Bright red blushing faces looked at each other, only to avert their gazes and chuckle. Hermione was about to say something when Harry beat her to it. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for being an idiot and avoiding you. And I'll keep my promise too, you know that, right?"

It was Hermione's turn to nod in silence.

"You remember I said I'd dreamt of you? I've got nightmares too, a-and... And just like you said, you've helped me through them as well," he explained, hoping Hermione would understand how important she is to him.

"Do you, er... Do you want to tell me about them?" she asked after a pause.

_Clang!_

"The bell!" they yelled together, stood up and ran outside towards the greenhouses, where their first Herbology lesson was already under way. Harry slipped on the grass but managed to regain his balance, while Hermione tried to look for the right greenhouse among the many that lined a gently sloped area south of the West Tower.

They reached a pair of closed glass doors and pushed the open, finding a room with some very nasty looking plants instead of wizards. One potted plant with bright orange leaves and blue pods began to shake and spit at them, almost hitting Harry on the face if he hadn't ducked, bringing Hermione to the floor with him.

"Sorry, wrong greenhouse!" he told the plants and crawled back, pulling his friend along.

"Oh, you think?!" she asked sarcastically.

"Unless that thing was Professor Sprout, then yeah!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, and closed the doors while looking at the greenhouse on the other side. The correct greenhouse.

"...and most important of all, always wear your hand and face protections!" Professor Pomona Sprout was explaining when they knocked to ask for permission to enter. The short, stout witch motioned them inside and paused for a second over Hermione, who also recognized her professor and gave a small wave in greeting before sharing a garden table with Harry and a pair of Hufflepuffs.

One of them, a blonde girl wearing her hair in pigtails, yelped when she saw Harry, and stuttered a little introduction while looking at Hermione. "H-hello, I'm Hannah Abbot, and this is--"

"Finch-Fletchley," Harry interjected, with a rather spiteful voice.

"Harry, that's enough," Hermione told him, before formally introducing themselves and turning their attention to the magical plants, algae and fungi. When Professor Sprout approached and tried to split Harry and Hermione apart, she mentioned The Earmarked Parlour and strung some polite small talk about Mrs Morewitt, finally pleading not to be split away from her Gryffindor friend.

Professor Sprout seemed undecided, looking torn between acquiescing to the little girl she had seen so many years ago, now a pleasant young witch, and following the request from the Headmaster, until finally relenting and leaving the four pupils to work together.

At the end of the lesson, Ron and Neville joined Hermione and Harry while wiping the chlorophyll out of their hands with a charmed scourgifying towel; one simple wipe and the dirt was gone! They told Neville all about about Fluffy, and also shared what Hermione had heard about the Headmaster wanting to isolate Harry. He also took the chance to share his belief that the cerberus was guarding something even more dangerous underneath, hence the trapdoor.

They had little time to talk freely, for as soon as Harry stepped inside the Great Hall, he was confronted by an angry looking Draco nurturing a limp arm, clearly faking an injury. "I'm telling my father about your attack, Potter! You'll be expelled before you know it!"

"Just ignore him, Harry. It's useless to waste your time with the likes of _him_," Hermione whispered and pulled her friend away to the Gryffindor table for lunch.

Because they had Astronomy at eleven o'clock in the night, their schedules added a forty four minutes long flying lesson after Terramorphology at two, something Harry was keen on trying ever since visiting Diagon Alley. He also added another task to his mental to-do list: Buy a watch, because his neck was already in pain out of turning so many times to see what time it was on the jewelled platinum clock hanging on the wall behind him.

Even preoccupied with his upcoming flying experience, Harry was quite astounded to learn that so many large portions of land mass in the world were actually unknown to muggles, and that many of the countries and empires that he had learned about in Primary School were actually overlaid by borders lost and conquered by wizards along thousands of years. Professor Dionysus Dowser waved his wand and a floating globe left it's place on the corner of the room, under several maps hanging on the wall.

In the old, faded representation of the wizarding world, Hermione could see an extended continental Europe over the Mediterranean, a large island next to Madagascar, the real extension of Greenland and the true Bermuda Archipelago, _the_ vacation spot of preference for all wizards according to Professor Dowser. The middle-aged wizard spent the rest of the lesson telling anecdotes of his travels and recommending further places to visit in the summer, much like a tour operator enticing potential travel customers.

After the lesson, Ron had been quite enthusiastic about broomstick flying, telling them how much fun flying and Quidditch were, describing the differences between transportation and sport broomsticks as well as complaining about his older brothers knocking him off his old Sharpbristles model every five minutes. Hermione had no fear of heights, but elevating herself on a rickety broomstick wasn't a very agreeable prospect, no matter how much fun it was described to be.

At five minutes to four, the eight Gryffindor first years exited the castle to find a miniature broomstick carrying a large banner with the writing "follow me!" that fluttered above their heads. It sped away and they ran after it, reaching a wide open area next to a huge oval stadium, that Ron pointed as being the Quidditch pitch, while jumping up and down and waving his arms in excitement.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and he simply smiled at Ron's silliness. He then took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary calm and trying to put his mind at ease from meddling adults who wanted him isolated, from meeting his deceased parents in moving pictures, from disastrous encounters with three-headed dogs and from the jealousy he felt over his personal guardian angel laughing with another boy. Harry now understood it was silly, but the hurt he felt was real, and when Malfoy taunted him about his friends leaving him alone, his very heart ached from fear it could be true.

"Look at that one! Short legs, can barely hold a wand, and ugly as a troll!"

Harry snapped to his right and found the entire Slytherin first year roster assembled around Draco and his Lords of the Playground, already insulting his Gryffindor housemates. _When_ had they arrived there he didn't know, but he did wish they hadn't arrived at all.

"Settle down please, and welcome everyone to your first broomstick flying lesson! My name's Rolanda Hooch, and I'll be training you to fly safely and efficiently," spoke a rather fierce looking witch with yellow eyes and a very aquiline nose. Her short, grey hair followed the wind much like a hawk's plumage does, and she called two dozen brooms from a nearby shed using her wand.

Madame Hooch asked them to form a line and dropped one broom next to each pupil, with the handle pointed forward on the grass. She demonstrated how to activate a broomstick herself and held it horizontally, indicating which way was forward, what a handle was, and how important it was to properly check for loose or bent twigs _before_ mounting and riding.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Extend your arms and say _up_!"

"_Up!_" all seventeen voices commanded, extending one open hand to the broomsticks on the ground. Some of them swiftly sprung up, most gave a few tumbles, and a few simply rolled over. Harry's broomstick obeyed instantly and he felt it vibrating inside his closed fist, he then let it go gently and the flying device hovered by his side.

Unfortunately Hermiones broom was less accommodating, it merely buckled and fell back on the ground. She grunted and commanded again, this time with greater meaning and will. "Up!" she repeated and the wooden handle jumped towards her outstretched arm. Confident, she let go after a few seconds but the reluctant broomstick tried to float away, until she glared and grabbed it again.

Bending forward a little to watch their classmates, Hermione and Harry marvelled at how easily Ron had mounted his broomstick and was now hovering a few feet above ground. Their other friend however wasn't so experienced. It seemed the broom had bent Neville's fingers back when he called it up the first time, and was now rolling away from him every time he tried to command it again.

Seeing the rest of their housemates already mounting their flying broomsticks, including Dean who looked like Christmas had come early, Hermione looked at Harry and encouraged him to hop on, while she lifted a leg up and over the hovering handle. Madame Hooch was busy trying to teach Malfoy's large goons Crabbe and Goyle when she noticed Hermione hanging from her broom and bouncing on one leg trying not to fall, and expelled a deep sigh.

"Ms Granger, the _other_ leg first, if you please?"

"Oh..." she said, and tried not to look at anyone while ignoring the laughter. She heard Harry whispering she needn't worry, that it was his first time too, and quickly reversed her motion, easily straddling the broom. Hermione beamed back at him, and wondered how to push forward.

Her unvoiced question was answered when Madame Hooch corrected Malfoy's posture and handling on the broomstick. The blonde boy insisted his way was correct, however.

"Father and I have flown this way for years!"

"Your father taught you wrong then, Mr Malfoy. Now pull those fingers up and set your hand at an angle," the instructor commanded.

Harry tried it and moved forward, leaned to his right and completed a tight loop, returning to his original place but facing the other side. He was about to encourage Hermione to do the same when Neville sprinted on his broom in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, screaming at the top of his voice.

"_Longbottom, get back here boy!_" yelled Madame Hooch, who called her broomstick up and mounted it while it was still rising from the ground, speeding forward to chase Neville.

Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately for him, Neville hit the very first tree on his path, ending his wild joyride wrapped around the wide trunk as the broom clattered over some exposed roots. "Owww..." he moaned and slid down to fall on his back, exposing split lips, a bleeding broken nose and a swollen eye that made the entire Gryffindor first years wince. Madame Hooch arrived and levitated him using her wand, guiding him to the castle and telling the class to wait for her to return from the Infirmary.

"The stupid lump can't even steer a broom!" laughed Malfoy, while his enforcers Crabbe and Goyle pointed and snickered.

"I _saw_ you sending him a pinching spell, it's your fault he's hurt!" said Parvati, who was glaring back at the sneering Slytherins.

"Oh, Parvati, I didn't know you liked cry-babies," drawled a black haired girl whose face resembled a pug, "besides, it was Potter who attacked Draco first this morning. It's only right that he seeks compensation."

Harry paled and felt his stomach plummet. It was his fault Neville was on his way to the Infirmary, only because he reacted to Malfoy's taunting and provocation! Then again, the idea of taking revenge on someone's friends felt quite wrong, something only a coward would do, and he was not going to stand and watch his friends being attacked by a coward that couldn't face him directly. He was taking a few steps forward when Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him to her.

"Don't! They're only provoking you..." she whispered in his ear.

"Well I don't care, what he did is wrong, and Neville got hurt because of me!" Harry walked to stand before Malfoy and looked directly into his grey eyes, "I apologize for using my wand on you this morning," he said and the Gryffindors gasped.

Draco looked stunned for a few seconds, but then he began to shake and suddenly burst laughing. "The stupid half-blood wants to _apologize_ to me!" he said between peels of laughter and shook his head, until falling silent and scrunching his face. "The day I treat you as an equal is the day Merlin himself serves me a cup of warm butterbeer at L'Apprenti Sorcier!"

"Er... A cup of what at where?" Harry innocently asked.

Draco snorted and pulled his nose even higher, "Had you accepted my offer on the train instead of mingling with mudbloods, squibs and paupers, you'd know what real wizards drink, and what a respectable establishme--"

The blonde Slytherin didn't finish his remarks for Harry had pushed him to the ground using his hands, an action immediately followed by Crabbe and Goyle swinging their beefy hands at him, knocking his spectacles away and tumbling him to the ground with a split lip. Hermione screamed and kicked the taller bully on the shin with the point of her boot, making him yell and jump on one foot while Ron assaulted the other half of Draco's entourage by flying at them.

An uncontrolled scuffle broke out when Ron was pulled out of his broomstick by a skinny boy Draco called Zabini, at which moment Seamus and Dean tumbled Goyle to the ground while he was jumping and rubbing his leg. Meanwhile, Lavender picked her own broom by the handle, and began hitting boys and girls indiscriminately with the magically hardened bristles, until the pug faced girl named Pansy attacked her with her wand, making her skin boil in a few places.

One blonde girl wearing Slytherin robes stood back, however, and while Harry tried to regain his balance, he overheard Parvati talking to her.

"You must understand, Daphne, that I abhor such violent nonsense," the dark skinned girl explained.

"Indeed, there _are_ more sophisticated means of resolving a dispute. It's a shame Draco lowers himself in this way," she tsked and shook her head. "Would you care for some pumpkin juice? I have a replenishing jar with me."

"Why thank you!" Parvati replied and walked to sit on a fallen tree trunk nearby.

Harry shook his head and focused back on the fray, patted around looking for his eyeglasses and pulled himself up in time to watch Draco bending over next to Hermione, who was sitting on the grass trying to clear some twigs from her mouth and hair.

"What's this, some useless muggle contraption?" Malfoy sneered and toyed with the silver puzzle Hermione had been given as a present after the sorting. She gasped and tried to reach for it but a pudgy Slytherin girl pulled her by the cloak.

"_Give it back!_" she yelled and tried to snatch it again, but Malfoy mounted his broom and flew away a few yards, taunting her to come and get it. Hermione was calling a broomstick up from the grass when a growling blur zoomed past her field of vision. She recognized the growl first, and then confirmed it was Harry when he positioned himself in front of Malfoy.

"Please give it back, I won't ask again."

"Make me, _Potter_!" he retorted and sped towards the Forbidden Forest, with Harry closing in on him. When he realized Harry was about to knock him out of his broomstick, Draco swung his arm as far back as possible and threw the silver contraption with a wide arch towards the trees.

Harry didn't even flinch, he swiftly forced the broom to a full stop and reversed his heading, bending forward on the handle and willing it to accelerate as fast as possible towards the tiny silver spec. He failed to see Ron tackling the laughing Slytherin, who had stopped to gloat but was now spread eagled face down on the ground; instead Harry focused his non-swollen eye on Hermione's belonging.

The puzzle was now falling back to ground, and Harry pulled up some thirty feet high, steered to avoid some swinging treetops, swirled around a tall conifer and, while holding to the broomstick with one arm only, hooked his left leg on the handle and dangled over, stretching his right hand to catch it in one breathtaking acrobatic movement.

"Bloody hell, he's good!" Ron exclaimed, while still sitting on top of Draco's back.

Harry left the forest and returned to ground, landing next to Hermione, who was trying to decide whether to yell at him for being so foolish and rash, or hug him for being so kind and brave. She decided to do both at the same time and jumped over him, telling him he was a complete idiot and a precious friend.

"_Enough!_ Mr Potter, come with me. The rest of you are to follow Madame Hooch to the Infirmary," the agitated voice belonging to Professor McGonagall issued. She was joined by their flying instructor, whose hawk-like visage was more pronounced than ever, murderous even. "She will deal you your punishment for this most unacceptable behaviour afterwards!"

"Patil, Greengrass, help the others collect those broomsticks if you please. You're to leave for your common rooms after," Hooch told the girls who abstained from the tussle, "and Weasley, get out of Malfoy's back right now!"

Harry's friends gulped and began doing as asked, watching him follow their Head of House looking very pale and nervous. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the professor and silently fumed at the adult wizards use of this opportunity to separate Harry from them again, while picking the bent and broken flying broomstick Lavender had used to hammer them all on the head.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was true to his first impression of her, well Harry's second impression since their first encounter was unknown to him until this week, and the tabby cat had never introduced itself as being none other than Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School. The old witch spared nary a glance at him as they walked, nor did she change the firm and stern look in her face while pulling him around the castle.

They had reached a pair of marble gargoyle statues facing forward against a stretch of stone wall facing an arched balustrade that overlooked the lake and part of the forest. Harry turned his head when the gargoyles looked at Mrs McGonagall first and then glared at him, and hurried after her when the menacing creature on the right sprung sideways and revealed an entrance with a revolving set of spiralling steps leading up.

The quick ascension ended in front of a heavy mahogany wooden door engraved with the Hogwarts crest on it, and a single golden knocker right below it. Mrs McGonagall placed a finger on it and the door opened enough to allow a small and thin child inside. Harry looked up at his Head of House but she averted his eyes, simply waving him inside and taking the now downward moving steps.

He chanced a peek inside and saw a large office wall, completely filled with bookcases and assorted items and books, as well as some paintings here and there, some hanging and others on top of the wood shelves, resting against the stone wall behind. Knocking on the door first, he cleared his throat and timidly voiced a greeting, followed by a request for entry.

"Is someone there?" he asked, this time taking one half step inside and taking in the rest of the office. It was dominated by a large desk resting in front of a plush arm chair, flanked by a standing desk on one side and a series of cabinets filled with strange whistling, spinning and shining silver artefacts on the other. He smiled briefly, thinking how much Hermione would enjoy seeing them all.

A sudden noise called his attention and his hand moved by instinct, snatching an airborne unidentified flying object that zoomed from somewhere behind him. He opened his palm to see a golden orb similar to the remembrall Neville had shown him a couple of days before, an item that glowed red if the owner was actually forgetting something, which happened to be a more than regular occurrence for the Longbottom boy.

This one glowed bright blue, however, and sent a tingling, cold feeling up his arm and over his entire body. Harry carefully deposited the orb on the table, and turned to his left facing a large wall mirror that he was sure wasn't there a moment ago, by the now closed hardwood door. He ran backwards and hit the wooden table in fright, startled by the sight of two adults looking back at him from it, despite the fact he was alone in that room.

Harry rubbed his eyes and soothed his back, before pushing his spectacles up his nose and gaping at the couple. They were identical to the people holding a months old baby in the first page of Hagrid's photo album. They were James and Lily Potter, his parents.

"Mum? Dad, is that really you?" he asked and walked to the mirror. He touched the cold, smooth glass and sighed. Chancing a miracle, he looked sideways in hope of finding them standing next to him, but they were not with him. Perhaps they were trapped inside the mirror and he had to break it to set them free? Harry sat in front of their image, watching them pat his messy haired head and straighten his robes, as he had seen other parents do while boarding the Hogwarts Express.

Mute and endlessly expectant, his mum and dad continued to stare back at him, as if they had no will of their own, even after the minutes passed. The young boy in the mirror looked up at the couple and smiled, but Harry didn't smile at all. He heard a beautiful, ethereal melody invade his mind and soon felt no more connected to this mirror image of his parents than with the pictured wizards in the album.

Burying his face in his hands and struggling to get on his feet, Harry noticed how dark it was outside. Somehow he had spent much longer than he thought sitting cross-legged on the floor, and then the strange but warming melody sounded again. He turned back to the large desk and gasped, fixing his gaze on a large feathered and winged creature perched on the main chair.

The red and gold bird was larger that Hermione's big raven, its long vibrant feathers shining with every breath it took. Troubled by how long he had stayed in that office, he moved to open the door and leave, but a trill from the magnificent animal stopped him in his tracks. The bird spoke in melody, it trilled and sang music more comforting and appealing than any he'd ever heard in his life.

Harry watched it fly from the back of the chair to a golden perch located next to another of the many bookshelves, and opened his mouth in awe at the birdsong again. He tried to record the melody in his mind, and whistled it back at the bird. Its large black eyes focused on him and he felt a rush of feelings bubbling inside him. Sadness and despair came forward and his throat constricted, but then the joy he felt when choosing to accept the reality of him being a wizard and knowing he was once loved by his parents overrode that pain, and he replayed another melody from the red-feathered animal, never looking away from its eyes.

The bird preened and looked around, fixing its stare somewhere over Harry's shoulder, then trilled again and lurched at him. Seeing the impending attack, he ducked and covered his head, only to scream in terror from the sight of bright orange flames engulfing him.

* * *

After being docked five points each for fighting, the battered Slytherins and Gryffindors were forced to rest in the Infirmary together, battling silently with occasional sneers, hissed derogatory comments and insulting hand gestures.

Hermione largely ignored the bickering around her, instead worrying about Harry and whether he was being forced to pack his things and leave. She couldn't understand why the principal authorities in the school wished him to suffer isolation. Perhaps it was because of his Parseltongue ability? They might consider him to be a dark wizard, and keeping him away from others would prevent him from building a "cadre of Potterettes" as Professor Snape had so delicately put it. But surely a powerful wizard like Headmaster Dumbledore would be above such prejudice!

She never saw the strange look in Madame Pomfrey's face when she used her wand to scan Hermione for injuries in her chest, nor did she notice her mending her sprained ankle within minutes. All she was focused in was about going back to the common room as soon as possible and ask Harry what happened.

"I asked, Ms Granger, if you cared to share how this wound in your neck came to be?" the Healer insisted, trying to win her attention.

"Hmmm...?" asked Hermione, "Oh, I-- Er... It h-happened when I was little," she whispered and shrugged.

"I was under the impression you were muggle-born?"

"Mudblood," coughed Draco from his own hospital bed, poorly trying to conceal his racial slur.

Madame Pomfrey glared at him and hastily summoned a series of flasks, instructing every child to drink a goblet of it, except for Hermione. A few minutes later an snoring contest indicated they'd all fallen into a gratifying potion induced sleep.

Hermione was about to ask about that particular potion when Madame Pomfrey cut her off. "The reason I asked, Ms Granger, is that your wound is actually magically induced," she explained and drew the privacy curtain to a close, "now please lay down and show me your torso."

Without complaining and feeling her head spin, Hermione removed her clothes as well as the gold pendand and necklace her raven Kettle had brought her once, and never removed again. Madame Pomfrey gasped, something that made her worry even further. "Wha-- What do you mean by magically induced, Healer Pomfrey?"

"I mean to say your scar is the result of a magical curse." She paused and observed the bushy haired girl's reaction with interest.

"But... But I didn't even know magic existed until my Hogwarts letter arrived!"

"Has any muggle healer ever tried to mend this gash?"

Sighing and remembering the newspaper clippings she had of her reportedly miraculous survival under the rubble of a collapsed building, she explained the situation in confidence to Madame Pomfrey, asking her to please respect her wish for secrecy. Hermione told of her parents dying and being found crushed under tons of debris, and of her months long stay in the finest paediatric hospital in London.

"Well it certainly was not St Mungo's then, and I'm afraid to say no healer there would be able to close this wound as it can be done with a physical injury..."

Hermione noticed Madame Pomfrey pausing again, seemingly weighing her options and what to say next. Hermione was feeling progressively worse, for if this wasn't an ordinary injury from the accident that killed her family, then there was a wizard with them at the time who could have saved them all.

"Drink this now, it'll make you rest and then you are free to go," she said, handling her the vial of blue potion. Hermione dressed herself, drank the liquid and felt her world of new worries fade to black.

* * *

Harry waited for the pain that was sure to come from being burned alive, but it never came. He opened one eyelid tentatively and looked for the dangerous beast, inwardly cursing the school for having booby-trapped towers, ferocious three-headed dogs and incendiary birds everywhere!

"Am I dead?"

His only reply was a faint echo in an absolutely dark, sealed room.

"Oh bother, I _am_ dead! And I didn't even last a full week in school?! But if I'm not dead yet, I'm probably missing the first Astronomy lesson and Hermione's gonna kill me anyway..."

* * *

Hermione stirred from a curiously dreamless sleep, something she had seldom experienced before. Her eyes adjusted to the lit room and she glanced at the other beds, noticing them to be empty. She gasped when she looked outside and the stars shone through the arched windows, lifting her covers and hastily running out of the Infirmary to retrieve her materials for Astronomy class.

"I'm late! I'm late! _I'm late!_" she announced and made her way across the common room while Gryffindors of all ages stared at her.

She reappeared from the the stairs leading to the girls dormitories clutching her filled to capacity rucksack in one hand and an struggling fake herpolizard in the other, wearing only half of a large wool overcoat while the other half floated freely behind her.

The portrait swung open and she jumped acrobatically through it, taking advantage of her small size, and turned left to take the first available staircase up to the Astronomy Tower. Hermione reached the tallest tower and the irregular doors carved with moons and stars at seven minutes before eleven, panting and looking around for Harry among her first year peers.

"Did you find--"

"Have you seen--"

Ron shushed her and said he hadn't met Harry anywhere, and that they hoped she had found him somewhere because every teacher told them to ask their Head of house, yet she was also missing. Hermione nodded and, while pulling her arm inside her coat, asked Neville and Ron to follow her to one of the empty benches lined on the pentagonal walls of the hall.

"Did you notice how Blacksnout always finds Harry?"

"Blimey! You're right, it must be because he's a Parselto--"

"Hush!" said Hermione, planting her open hand on Ron's mouth. She agreed with him and told them she was going to set her familiar free, hoping he would instinctively look for Harry, and would also be calling on Kettle to deliver a short note to him asking where he was, as soon as Professor Sinistra allowed them outside on the observatory terrace.

"Are you feeling better, Neville?" she asked out of consideration, noticing his still swollen face but mostly healed wounds from his face-first encounter with a tree.

"Yes, I am, t-thanks..."

Hermione smiled and then let her face fall into a frown, she bit her lip and, surveying the hall first, whispered to them what she had heard a few nights before at you-know-where after escaping you-know-what. She paused at the dumbfounded looks in Ron and Neville's faces and sighed. She could understand Neville's confusion, but Ron was there with them, for goodness sake!

"Honestly, Ronald! I'm talking about Fluffy and the unused corridor..."

"Don't remind me!" Ron exclaimed and shivered.

"Do you mean... That Dumbledore wants to keep Harry isolated from everyone?" Neville asked, despite looking clueless as to who Fluffy was, and what they were doing in an unused part of the castle. "But why? And what were you three doing outside the common room late at night?"

"Er... Well, we... I mean he... Oh fine, Harry wanted to find something and we went with him!"

"You've risked loosing _even more points_ and getting detention again?"

"Lower your voice Neville, please. It was... Well it was something Harry really, _really_ needed to do. I hope you understand?" Hermione pleaded.

Neville remained silent and was saved form replying by Professor Sinistra, a tall and pale witch wearing pitch black robes and hat, who opened the large doors leading to the observation deck on the tower. She had placed several brass telescopes evenly spaced along the battlements, and instructed the assembled Gryffindors and Ravenclaws to sit themselves on the semi-circular iron benches around each stargazing instrument.

When Harry's name was called, everyone noticed his absence but Hermione noticed her professor's already pale face becoming whiter still, losing whatever pink shades she had. Her discomfort and dread increased when the until then missing Professor McGonagall exited the castle at an accelerated pace, scanning the tower for someone.

"Is Potter here?" the Head of House asked the Astronomy Professor.

* * *

Harry was disoriented and cold. His fingers had no feeling and the incessant flapping around him in the dark was giving him goosebumps and raising the hairs on his neck.

"Who's there?" he kept asking. He had found a wall and was following it blindly, trying to find a door out of that space and wondering why had Mrs McGonagall trapped him in there. He concluded it was part of his punishment for fighting and causing so much trouble, reasoning that it was only right for him to be locked away; at the very least, this room was larger than a cupboard.

The flapping resumed behind him and despite his wide open pupils, he couldn't see anything at all, almost as if he were blindfolded. Harry turned again and left the safety of the wall, moving carefully towards the sound of wings.

"Ahhh!" he yelled and fell flat on floor after tripping on something. Looking around for his eyeglasses, he couldn't find them but managed to feel a small ridge, made of stone much like the rest of the floor. Sighing and rubbing his bruised hands and knees, Harry crawled forward and followed the rough raised surface as it increased in size and roughness.

"What... What's this?" he whispered, "It's the root of a tree!"

Harry felt a trunk so wide he could barely distinguish it's width. He tried to put his thin arms around it but the diameter was roughly five times his open arms. The flapping came from above him and Harry took a step back, keeping one hand on the petrified tree while circling it.

He came upon a different texture on the bark of the tree, more regular and carved, as if intentionally made by intelligent hands. Waving both hands over it, he tried to understand what it was but only managed to discover it was a shield or a coat of arms, but the darkness made it impossible to see anything. As he reached what he believed to be the head of an animal, however, two impossibly bright stars shone in front of him, and he fell back on the floor with a start.

* * *

"That's it!" Hermione said and perched herself over a battlement, using her fingers to whistle and making a call with a flick of her tongue. While some of her classmates looked and pointed at her, she extended her arm and felt the added weight of her raven Kettle.

"Harry is missing," she told him and ripped a piece of parchment, writing a simple "Where are you? H." on it and rolling it around her quill. "Please find him and give him this, if he's in trouble come back and find me again."

She released her glossy black familiar into the cold night air and watched him perform a few circles, before leaning to the right and diving along the castle walls and out of her view.

"Ms Granger, what exactly are you doing?" Professor McGonagall asked, leaning on the battlement as well.

"The best I can to help find him. Harry _is_ missing then... And he's probably disappeared because the Headmaster wants to isolate him!" she replied and watched Kettle soar back into view, over the slanted roofs of the Great Hall. "He must be inside the castle, otherwise Kettle would've flown in another direction," she concluded.

"Ms Granger, I believe you shouldn't jump to conclusions in this manner!"

"About Harry being forced away from his friends by the entire Hogwarts Staff, or regarding him being hidden inside the castle?" Hermione asked, watching the older witch intently.

Mrs McGonagall narrowed her eyes for a second, long enough for Hermione to perceive she was right on both counts, and turned away at a brisk pace. She conferred with Professor Sinistra in hushed tones and left the tower quicker than a woman her age should be able to.

* * *

Mist surrounded him, the purple fog pulling him in no matter how much he struggled to swim up and away. Harry turned briefly to the centre of the violet maelstrom and watched the jets of emerald lightning pulsing from it. He pushed himself harder but the pull is relentless.

Struggling on the cold floor, he flailed his arms around and hit the hard stone around, suddenly opening his eyes to find the sparkling silhouette of the red and gold bird perched on the petrified tree over him, the only source of light in the room. It trilled again and, to his utmost surprise, he understood the _intent_ in the avian song.

"Remembrance, forgiveness, deliverance..." the beautiful song conveyed.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Harry asked, crawling back on his elbows. "Where am I?"

The amazing glowing bird preened and sang a different melody, now of unity and love. Harry wondered if it was recalling some lovely bird of its past; male or female was only a guess since he didn't know what gender the one above him was.

Looking around in the faint light coming from the bird's feathers, he managed to have a better view of the tree and the room. It was a tall, broad but lifeless oak tree, its petrified roots digging into the stone tiled floor below, and its colour grey and pale. He couldn't see the ceiling, but the walls around him were bare and smooth, no moss or spider webs, nothing lived in the room.

Harry looked back at the perched animal and marvelled at its flaming feathers, which accurately fit the description of the magical creature he learnt about in Music Class, while listening to Stravinsky on a battered old cassette player in school. The Firebird was the name of that piece.

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked and walked to it, "What does everyone expect from me?"

The firebird extended its wings and, with a flash of fire, flew straight towards Harry, who hesitated and took a few steps back, until the flames engulfed him again.

* * *

Hermione found all the assigned constellations and stars, and proceeded to sketch their representations on parchment. Professor Sinistra hovered among the pupils helping and correcting, but never praising. She seemed to demand astronomical exactitude and no less than stellar results from them.

"Aldebaran in Taurus, and... Algorab in Corvus, between Virgo and Hydra..." she recited, drawing and double checking through her brass telescope. She'd never, _ever_ seen such a clear view of the sky, those lenses seemed to correct every single atmospheric aberration, not to mention the fact Hogwarts' telescopes actually _ignored_ the Earth's surface and gave them a clear view of the southern skies! If Hermione didn't have more urgent issues to fill her mind, she would probably be staying overnight on the tower.

The news of her friend being missing was terrible, but even worse was the fact that he was probably missing on purpose. She didn't know what happened after Mrs McGonagall pulled Harry back to the castle, but it must have been something she said, or did, that made him hide somewhere. "They believe he's evil," she concluded with deep sadness.

"Is your crow back yet?" Ron asked, taking the chance to look over Hermione's star chart and copying a few things for his own.

"No Ronald, he isn't back yet. And Kettle is a raven, not a crow!" she answered, wrinkling her nose at his undisguised attempt in copying her work.

"Are we gonna look for him, then?"

Hermione nodded at Ron's worried question but remained silent. She wanted to wait for Kettle first, in case he delivered her an answered note. Otherwise, the castle is so enormous that they could spend weeks looking for him and never find a single trace of Harry.

* * *

Still clenching his eyes shut, Harry felt his bottom touching something solid after the millisecond of fire-clouded disappearance. He now understood the firebird had used its magic to bring him from that strange office to the petrified tree room, and now from that dark, lifeless place into...

Into a bird cage?!

"Do I look like I've got wings to you?" he asked annoyed, looking around at the carved wooden surfaces with its evenly spaced pattern of orifices that built the walls on an inverted, bell shaped cage. He was balancing himself on a wide swing held by golden chains, while the Firebird looked back with beady black eyes from an identical perch opposite him.

There were around ten more swings at several heights around the cage, all suspended from the dome ceiling. The dome itself was vaulted and adorned with frescos depicting birds similar to the one before him, but not only red and gold, rather also in blue, white and yellow, all bursting into golden fireballs and reappearing somewhere else on the painting every few minutes. He couldn't see any details without his lenses, but their overall shape and unusual flaming were quite recognizable.

"This is like an owlery! Only it's a... Well a firebird-ery, or something like that..." Harry exclaimed, scratching the back of his head. He paused for a few moments, scanning for other birds, but finding none. "Are you lonely like me?"

* * *

Taking small, languid steps around the tower while stowing their class materials _very_ slowly, Ron, Neville and Hermione waited for their classmates to leave, hoping Professor Sinistra would follow and dismiss them. The aptly named sinister looking witch was not to be fooled, however, and turned an icy glare at them that was worth a thousand words. Leave, and do it now, she conveyed.

"I b-believe we b-better leave," Neville stuttered.

Huffing, she agreed and pulled her rucksack, entering the castle and traipsing down the single staircase, with her friends behind. They met the rest of the Gryffindors on the bottom, assembled around Percy Weasley, whose purpose there was to escort them back to the common room. It was one of his Prefect privileges, he made sure to announce after throwing a vicious scowl in Hermione's direction.

After three tries at starting conversation and having Prefect Percy lecture them on the regulations regarding after-hours escorted underclassmen, the annoyed Gryffindors followed in silence all the way down to their floor and the sleeping Fat Lady guarding their common room.

"Is it me or his head's getting bigger by the day," Ron whispered, earning a chuckle from his friends.

As they were rounding the last corner before the portrait, four disembodied arms pulled Hermione under a tapestry, silencing her cries with a firm hand on her mouth. Soon two wands and a red haired, freckled face joined a round chubby one, and they too were pulled into the dark, yet spacious alcove.

"Fred? George! What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with us..."

"...he dares to ask!"

The wall behind the Weasley twins gave way and they were pulled up a dark stairway, being told to be quiet and not to ask questions, no matter how much Hermione insisted she had more urgent needs to fulfil. She stopped asking when they exited on the Astronomy Tower, through a fake stained glass window.

"Wow! How _do_ you know all these passageways?" she had to ask.

"The right question, Ms Granger, is how come when we were carrying our duty exploring this oh so ancient castle," one twin began.

"We had to dodge the whole staff, including Dumbledore I must add, who has been in a frantic hustle and bustle around Hogwarts for hours?" the other twin continued.

"Harry is missing since our flying lesson this afternoon," she told them.

"That solves one mystery, but more intriguing than that," both chorused at the same time now, "your friend isn't only missing, he's doing the impossible!"

The young first year girl looked up at the Weasley third years, blinking. "What do you mean?" Hermione asked, looking more worried by the second. Ron looked upset about something and Neville just didn't seem to be following the conversation, he was just shivering.

"We can't tell you how, but we've seen Harry Potter... Well he was, hmmm... He's _apparating everywhere!_" they finally explained.

The blowing wind carried the sounds of the forest, howling animals and chirping insect noises, as well as the rustling of centuries old trees were the dominant sound until Hermione burst out laughing, startling the other boys. They didn't laugh however, and for the first time since the Hogwarts Express, the look in the twins' faces wasn't one of mischief, but of real wonder and concern.

"You can't be serious?"

* * *

Harry was whistling a tune while the firebird trilled, creating an impromptu duet. He hadn't felt this happy since meeting Hermione on board the train to Hogwarts, and somehow he knew the bird was also happy for sharing this time with him. Why had it come for him out of the blue? And for that matter, did Professor McGonagall know this would happen?

"I found out my guardian angel was real, and made friends that don't really mind I'm a freak," Harry told the preening firebird, as it expelled a few sparks from its feathers. "I also got to know what my mum and dad looked like... Truth is, I don't feel alone any longer. You should visit me when I'm out of classes if you're feeling, you know, lonely? I'll introduce you to my owl Hedwig too, but right now I'd like for you to let me go sleep. Please?"

A two-dimensional yellow phoenix burst into flames on the ceiling frescos and Harry could now hear hooting and flapping sounds, as if a flock of owls had suddenly found him and were circling the large phoenix dwelling.

* * *

Up on the tallest tower, a flash of fire drew five Gryffindors' attention. They looked at each other and then heard a loud caw, coming from one of the battlements. Hermione walked towards Kettle and he jumped a bit in place, hopping from feet to feet before soaring off in the direction they had seen the brief but bright light appear.

"_The owlery!_" they cried together and ran, making use of the Weasley twins' expert knowledge of shortcuts and secret passages inside the castle. They reached the second floor and were unceremoniously thrown one by one under the statue of an ugly goat wearing a robe, which had lifted one hind leg after George, or perhaps Fred, tickled it behind the ears, revealing the hidden passage.

They slid down and reappeared by the cover of an archway leading to one of the courtyards, from where they could climb the hill and reach the back of the owlery within minutes. Many owls of several sizes, colours and types soared to and fro the large circular building, some carrying prey and others simply leaving for a nocturnal hunt. Kettle flew among them and was swiftly making his way inside.

Hermione spearheaded the group but had to halt to a stop upon reaching the pathway leading towards the entrance, mimicking the actions of another group of witches and wizards coming from the main wing of the castle in front of her. Seeing Headmaster Dumbledore spearheading _that_ particular group froze them on their tracks.

"Wonderful, Mr Potter's friends are here!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his light tone allowing Hermione to breathe again.

The old wizard pulled his beard around his neck like a scarf, and slowly pushed the door to the owlery open. He looked inside and then turned to Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, who was waving at Hermione.

"I believe we have found our missing friends at last," Dumbledore announced with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Friends?" she asked Ron and Neville, but both stared blankly at her. It was then that she noticed the absence of a pair of red-heads; they were probably looking for a safer area of Hogwarts in which to cause some trouble.

Inside the round, shingle roofed building, floated an spectacular wooden habitat shaped to the likeness of an inverted bell and topped by a hardwood vaulted dome, decorated with frescos of exotic birds and flowering trees. Within the large enclosure, several swings hung from golden chains, two of them presently occupied.

"Blessed Merlin! Is that... Is that the Phoenix Dome?" Professor Sprout squeaked.

"Mr Potter, what are you doing in there?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Er... Swinging?"

Ron couldn't help but chuckle at that. Neville and Hermione however were openly gawking with their mouths open. "Harry, that's a phoenix!" she needlessly pointed.

"Very well, I must be off. Essays to grade and lessons to prepare," explained Professor Flitwick. "Oh and Albus? I told you so!" he added and left, humming a tune to himself.

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled and then called a name into the floating cage. "Fawkes?"

The red and gold phoenix turned its black eyes to him, but otherwise remained still. Meanwhile, Harry was smiling back at Hermione, who had a million questions in her mind. He watched her inquisitive face and mouthed "later". It was good enough for her.

"Excuse me sir, is the phoenix's name Fawkes?" she asked and received an affirmative nod from the headmaster. "And I take it only a phoenix can enter or leave that habitat?"

"A very correct guess, Ms Granger."

"Actually Professor Dumbledore, it wasn't a guess but a simple deduction. Harry would most certainly have left the cage earlier if he could, for he's found himself in enough trouble as it is. Plus the fact you asked Fawkes for help, instead of activating or creating a door with your wand, sir."

Sprout, McGonagall and Dumbledore looked back at her with an amused collective look. "I understand now, my dear Fawkes. And thank you for showing me," the headmaster added after the phoenix trilled.

A flash of fire illuminated the Phoenix Dome and Harry found himself standing before the tall figure of his headmaster, who was peering at him behind his spectacles, holding a chuckle. "Remembrance, forgiveness and deliverance?" he asked.

Harry gasped and looked up at Fawkes, who replayed the beautiful song from earlier. Of one thing he was certain: Being kidnapped by this phoenix did something to change Professor Dumbledore's opinion of him. Yet he couldn't comprehend why he had been taken to see that strange petrified tree, or why after so many years of crazy dreams and haunting nightmares, Harry was now having visions of green fire and purple mists. He though about telling the Headmaster about it all, but changed his mind when Fawkes sang of secrets and loss. The look in Dumbledore's face told him it was something meaningful but also unknown to him.

His pondering was interrupted when a large and black bird perched on his left shoulder, handing him a rolled parchment with an inked quill inside. He read it and grinned, replying with a simple spoken sentence: "I'm right here."

* * *

Notes:

1.- I've always found it difficult to understand the subjects studied at Hogwarts (being a muggle and all, it's quite hard for me to grasp them) so, instead of scouring for clues on canon lessons, I've taken the liberty to add new classes and put originally elective subjects as standard from year one. That is until you can choose electives and drop some standard classes to focus on the wizard's desired future career. Here's a list of the new classes and a brief explanation of each:  
- Linguistic Sorcery: Modern languages and their use in spells. Taught by Mr August de Bonécrit.  
- Magical Transportation (obligatory but not full term): Broomstick flight; use of Floo and portkeys; apparation training in Hogsmeade; use of magical portals and mirrors. Taught by Madame Hooch and others accordingly.  
- Terramorphology: Geodesy and cartography, among other topics related to wizard political borders. Taught by Professor Dionysus Dowser.  
- Thaumagnosis: Wizard biology, requisite for a Healer career. Taught by Healer Mr Thalamus Marrow.

2.- L'Apprenti Sorcier is a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley's Esquire Square (it's actually a round plaza with stores around it, but what do I know...), an elegant shopping area close to Gringotts.

3.- The "pinchicato" spell sends a series of repeated pinching on someone. It's a combination of the words "pinch" and "pizzicato", a musical technique where one plucks the string instead of using a bow on an instrument.

4.- I apologize if Fawkes has too much personality and a will of his own beyond what we've seen in canon. A Phoenix is endless, and while limited by its very nature, I believe it can be a very smart creature, one that seeks nothing but righteousness and goodness in people.

5.- "L'Oiseau de Feu" is the French translation of "The Firebird", a ballet piece by Stravinsky. He also arranged two orchestral versions of that wonderful music, to be played without the scenic art, called Suites. More information on the internet or your local classical music encyclopaedia. A recording featuring Stravinsky himself as conductor is available in the Sony catalogue.


	10. Chapter 10: Measured Confessions

**Chapter 10: Measured Confessions**

Sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Gryffindor Tower at nearly two in the morning wasn't a very agreeable situation for Harry. He was nervous and glanced down at the deadly abyss every few seconds, wondering how on God's name could Hermione walk around the steep shingles with such confidence and grace.

"Promise me again, Harry. Please promise me that you won't... That you aren't going to think less of me after what I'm about to tell you?"

He sighed and wrapped his cloak tighter around. "I've said I promise three times already!"

"Right..." she answered sheepishly.

"Well?" he asked after another minute of silent pacing by Hermione.

"Urgh... Alright. I don't believe the people you saw in the mirror were your real parents."

Harry looked up at her and tilted his head. "Yeah, that's what Dumbledore told me, _less than an hour ago!_ Now please tell me what you _really_ wanna say?"

"My own parents died when I was two and I survived and I thought it was luck but now I think there was a wizard around and now I hate magic because they could've saved us all... _Happy now?_"

"Hermione, I--"

"I don't want your pity!" she interrupted.

"Fine! So you're an orphan, _big deal, I'm one too!_" he snarled back, "And I don't need your pity too!"

A minute passed in a silent staring contest until Hermione spoke again. "I didn't mean to say it isn't a big deal, Harry. I'm sorry, I know you lost your parents to You-Know--"

"_Murdered_ by Voldemort," he corrected, ignoring the flinching she displayed, "and I'm sorry too. I didn't want to shout back at you... How? I mean, what did you survive?"

"A collapsed building. More than seventy people died, including my mother and father, and I... I was the only one left alive. The Miracle Baby, they called me," she added with a sad chuckle, "and now Madame Pomfrey tells me this wound is actually the result of magic!" Hermione finished, pulling her hair to the side and revealing her jaw and neck.

"Result of magic? I don't get it..."

"Don't you see, Harry? I survived because of magic, I should have died with them, but... But the magic didn't let me!" she said, swinging her arms around, "Either that or there was a wizard around, that could have saved us all but didn't because of the stupid Secrecy Statutes! And I _hate_ it!"

Harry remained silent, not knowing what to do or what to say.

"So there you go, I'm a freak, bookworm, ugly and bossy orphan with a ridiculous moniker and a charity named after me, who hates magic but doesn't belong with the muggles either..."

Watching her crossed arms and pronounced pout, and being quite adept at reading people's expressions as a self-defence mechanism against his aunt and uncle's wrath, Harry scooted closer to Hermione and patted the cold shingles on his right side. She furrowed her eyebrows even tighter together but complied, sitting next to him.

"You don't hate magic, I've seen the excitement in your face when you're in class. And _never_ call yourself a freak. Please, never do that again!"

"But that's what I am! Look at me!"

"You don't understand," Harry whispered.

"Listen Harry, I know what I am. I'm not like you, and... And I'll never understand why you know so little about magic, but I believe your family must have very good reasons to keep you detached from Wizarding Britain," she watched him snort at that, "yet I'd have loved to have been raised by people who understood what was happening to me..."

Now he simply let out a long laugh, which he promptly muffled with one hand, fearing they could attract Mr Filch's attention. He was sure it wouldn't happen, given that the roof was only accessible through a narrow passageway and ladder from the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Are you making _fun_ of me?!" she asked and made to stand up, but he pulled her by the elbow back down.

"No, that's not it at all." Harry took a deep breath and looked up at the sky for a while. "The day I chose to believe in magic and Hogwarts, was the day I chose to believe the most wonderful lie I've ever been told."

Hermione snapped her face at him, a million questions etched to her inquisitive brown eyes.

"Hagrid, he... He came to my uncle's house and told me about magic and my parents." He paused again, not looking up at his friend but knowing her full attention was on his every word. Harry trusted her implicitly, and was grateful for her confidence in him as well. "I _hated_ them, you know? My mum and dad... I hated them for being dead, for giving birth to a freak and for being the worthless people my uncles told me they were."

Bringing both hands to her mouth, Hermione gasped and shimmied closer to Harry, barely a millimetre separating her body from his. Her mind sped up and the mystery began to unravel. Harry never being allowed to have fun in a playground, his phobia against the word freak, him being rescued by Hagrid, Harry locked inside his cup-- His cupboard?! She felt her eyes moistening, but he needed no pity, he needed a friend to listen without judging or giving inane comments. She needed the same as well, and dared to hope the scrawny boy next to her would provide that comfort.

"But then I chose to believe what Hagrid said, that they were great wizards who loved me above everything else," Harry explained with a true smile, "and gave their-- Gave their lives for me..."

She decided right then to share the W.E.A.K. book with him and show him what happened with the Potter family, but remained seated next to him, giving him time to gather his thoughts and emotions, as well as collecting herself.

The night sky was devoid of clouds after one in the morning, the stars shone and the quarter-moon illuminated the grounds. The Gryffindor Tower's roof provided an extensive view over the eastern shore of the Black Lake, a large part of the Forbidden Forest and the steep, jagged mountains to the north. If they were so inclined, they could climb around the shingled roof and watch the entire castle, its cosy courtyards and several distinct towers making Hogwarts a remarkable place to see.

"I didn't even knew their names, Hermione..."

"Whose names?"

"Mum and dad's. Lily and James, my middle name is actually my dad's name," he said in awe, bringing a soft smile to her face.

Every few minutes, Harry released tiny bits of information. Painful memories and horrible feelings he would have never shared with anyone, had he not met Hermione and made her his personal guardian angel. She was different in the flesh, in fact he had resigned himself to believing she was a dream until meeting her again inside the Hogwarts Express, but she cared for him, liked him and promised to befriend him for as long as they lived. It was a promise he would cherish forever.

"So you see, _they_ are the ones who truly hate magic. They hate anything and everything that goes against their perfect little lives... I'd be very sad if you became anything like them," he added, finally looking at his friend.

Harry was startled at finding her face so close to his own. He hadn't felt their bodies touching side by side until then either, and despite flinching initially, he found the strange sensation to be both pleasant and soothing.

"I take it the dormitory room is quite an improvement over a spidery cupboard, then?"

Hermione's light comment dispelled whatever fears Harry had. "She'll run away from me. She'll hate or pity me for being such a weakling," were the fears that circled his thoughts while he spilled his secrets on top of the tower. But she didn't. She accepted his past as it was, a part of him much like him possibly being a Parselmouth, a true freak among wizards.

"Definitely! Though I do miss playing this game I called racing spiders," he said with a chuckle and a genuine smile.

She laughed and threw her head back, finally looking back at him. Blushing and fiddling with the hem of her cloak, she spoke softly again. "Can I-- Would you mind if I held your hand?" He didn't mind, and now it was his turn to listen to her life story.

* * *

Dawn arrived a few hours later to shine upon the moist red shingles topping the round tower, dew droplets reflecting like diamonds over a velvet cloth. The sun also illuminated a couple of children hugged together and sleeping side by side, wrapped under their cloaks and resting their heads on a pair of wrinkled, rolled-up black pointy hats. It was a measure of their mutual trust and friendship that they fell into an innocent embrace after confessing their secrets and fears, sharing their joys and dreams, both awake and asleep at the same time.

He was first to open his eyes and feel his arm numbed by added weight, the presence of his friend enveloped by him making it clear that last night wasn't a dream. The feelings running through him were far from uncomfortable, but they were absolutely foreign to him. What was this? How much had he failed to learn in his deficient childhood with the Dursleys?

Harry knew of sadness, fear, even hate; but he also knew there were words such as love, joy, and happiness. There were hundreds of years of gorgeous music based on those emotions! And yet he wondered if he could actually say "I know what love is," for he soon realized his relatives had none for him. Perhaps once, as a very young child, he had even loved his uncles and, while shuddering at the thought, had also loved his cousin Dudley in some way.

Falling asleep lulled by Hermione's soft lecturing made him feel secure. After a long week of insecurities, fears, dangerous beasts and meddling adults, listening to her explain the stars and constellations above was comforting and cleansing. Knowing she cared for him without reservations was more wonderful than being told he wasn't worthless or that he was actually a wizard. Yes, right now he knew _exactly_ what happiness is.

"Eeep!"

The unexpected yelp brought his attention to the bushy haired friend still in his arms, who was now squirming and covering her face with the collar of her robes. He watched her bury half her face under her robes and detach herself from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Morning breath!"

"Hmmm? I don't understand..."

"I'll be right back," she said and plopped a kiss on his cheek before lifting the trapdoor and sliding back inside the castle.

Harry had never been kissed before, and right then he knew _exactly_ what joy is.

The flaring torches along the bare walls of the passage leading down to the Gryffindor Common Room were probably useless, Hermione thought, because her blushing Weasley-hair-shade glowing face would suffice to light up the darkest of nights. "What was I thinking?" she berated herself, trying to ease her frantic breathing, "I kissed him!"

She lifted the tapestry that covered the inconspicuous door leading up the roof slightly and, after checking the common room was empty, ran across the circular lounge and up the girls' stairway to the lavatory. Stuffing her mouth with Twinkling Teeth mouth cleaning potion and unsuccessfully brushing her hair, Hermione dumped the potion in the sink and washed her face, darted into her room and silently browsed for the Wizengamot report that contained an explanation of what happened to the Potter family in Godrics Hollow, among many other victims of You-Know-Who.

The fancy magical alarm clock on Lavender's bedside table ticked six minutes after six in the morning, Lavender herself was snoring deeply while her arm hung limply over the side of the bed, and Hermione remembered the curious procurement she had requested of her, hoping she'd receive an answer today.

Tiptoeing out of the room, she sped downstairs again and dashed under the tapestry of the ancient castle held under siege by wizards mounted on flying cows, ignoring the squeaks she assumed were coming from her shoes over the polished floor. A single train of thought dominated her mind then, "Headmaster Dumbledore never gave his reasons for isolating Harry, he apologized but never explained." She had hoped it would all become clear after listening to Harry's recount of what the old wizard spoke to him in private and all that happened while she was in the Infirmary and in Astronomy class, but there were too many mysteries and unexplained motives.

They had opened themselves to one another on top of the tower, confessing embarrassing moments, retelling their greatest pains and sharing their dreams together. Hermione was pleasantly surprised when Harry praised her for being a hero, after she told him about her incident with smugglers that landed her in Manchester. They also came to the conclusion Mrs Morewitt was most likely hit with a petrificus totalus spell that evening, and the oddly dressed people she saw must have been Ministry Officers.

She opened the trapdoor and found him facing the sunrise, knees against his chest and closed eyelids, humming a melody. Not wanting to interrupt his obvious momentary peace, she sat behind him and waited.

"You're the real hero," she had told him last night, "you saved an entire world from evil!" But Harry had negated that completely, shaking his head and frowning. He said he wasn't because he had no choice in the matter, unlike her conscious decision to expose the exotic animal trafficking ring. "Perhaps I've been appointed to be a hero, but you've earned it yourself," he spoke, and Hermione understood the difference in his mind.

"Harry?"

"Hullo, feel better now?"

She nodded and showed him the book in her hands.

"Is that the report where my... Where it says what happened to t-them?" he asked, and she nodded again, not daring to say anything further. "Wait right here for me!" Harry said and carefully crawled up to the trapdoor. He seemed unsure for a second and turned back, looking at her face mere inches away, but his neck and cheeks went red and he hastily escaped into the tower.

Yawning all the way back to his shared bedroom, Harry retrieved his photo album from under the pillow, took a brief detour into the lavatory to freshen up and tried to tame his hair to no avail, before sprinting back to the roof. He wondered if they'd be able to stand a full day of classes, having slept little more than an hour, and was thankful today was a Friday. Harry prayed to the heavens that wizards didn't have to study on Saturdays.

"I want you to meet them," he announced and slid to a rest beside Hermione, who almost jumped out of her skin, not having heard his return.

"You scared me to death!" she yelled and swatted him on the arm. "Are you always this stealthy?"

He shrugged and answered that "when the people you live with want you to be invisible, it comes naturally." He forgot to mention it was a good skill to avoid his cousin's favourite game of Harry Hunting too.

"Whom do you wish me to--"

"Them," he said, and opened the album's first page, where his family stood together.

Hermione gasped and looked at the assembled people, who in turn looked up at her with a curious expression. She analysed them one by one, noticing family resemblance and their respective apparent age, linking the Harry sitting next to her to the photographed wizards. "Is that... Is that you?" she asked, pointing at the chubby baby wearing a tiny pointy hat.

Shifting on his sitting place, Harry mumbled affirmatively, embarrassed at the picture of himself.

"Oh Harry, you look so _cute_!"

Harry wished he could somehow become invisible right then. Or perhaps he could climb to the top of the biggest and tallest tree in the Forbidden Forest and stay there until next year, or share the bottom of the Black Lake with the Giant Squid for a couple of seasons; those would be decent places to hide for a while, he pondered.

While Hermione sat browsing through more pictures of "cute baby Harry", he was silently reading the pages she had bookmarked for him. She kept looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to gauge his reactions and read his face. Would he be devastated or simply ignore the events described? Was she doing him harm instead of good by showing him these truths? Or should she have hidden this from him? So many questions, but after last night, secrets would only hinder their friendship.

"It says here that a fiddlers charm was broken and it allowed Dumbledore to find my home?"

"Let me read. No, Harry, it says a _fidelius_ charm failed, it's probably some kind of protection. And Professor Dumbledore was first to arrive, yes. That's his testimony you're reading..."

"But I'm sure Hagrid hinted _he_ was the one that found me," he argued and continued to read.

Hermione was softly sniggering at a picture showing baby Harry floating on a tiny toy broomstick, when he closed the book with a snap. "You said these reports are restricted?"

"Yes, Mrs Morewitt was very reluctant to let me purchase it. I actually found it underneath a knut-a-piece misprinted run of Muggle Microbes and How to Find Them, and a toppled-over tower of Hogwarts: A History edition of 1789. The Earmarked Parlour was asking for five knuts each or a discount offer of two for seven knuts only on those! Can you believe that?"

"Er... Yes? I mean no?"

She laughed heartily at his indecision, closed the beautiful photo album and adopted a more serious expression. Too many things didn't add up, in her life and in his, and being the methodical person she was, she began formulating a plan to organize and plan their quest for answers.

"You can keep the book and read it later. Alone, if you feel it's better..."

"No, we'll read it together," he said with determination, "I won't understand half of what's written here anyway."

"Breakfast then?" she asked and stood up.

"And a shower!" he added, making them laugh.

Hermione and Harry left the tower's roof and exited from behind the tapestry, thankfully ignored by the few sleepy Gryffindors wandering about the common room. He forgot to ask her how on God's name had she found this passageway, but would rather ask whenever they find themselves alone again.

She glanced back at him before going up the girls' stairway, beaming at him with a blinding smile. Chiding herself for almost tripping on the first steps, Hermione bounced upstairs and wrenched her bedroom door open, coming face to face with her room-mates.

"_We_ want to know where you've been _all night long_," Parvati told her, almost singing the last few words and wiggling her dark eyebrows.

"Busted!" Hermione thought and inwardly cringed. "Well... There was a... Uhm... A troll! Yes, there was a troll inside the castle and... And..."

"And?" asked Lavender, fully awake for the first time at such an early hour.

"And... Well, would you believe that a gigantic three-headed dog tried to eat me for dinner?" she asked pitifully, knowing they wouldn't believe that last factual truth either.

Parvati and Lavender laughed, dismissed her and shook their heads. They left Hermione standing in the middle of the room, wondering if she was going to be accused to some prefect on duty, or worse, to her Head of House. Without time to waste, she grabbed a set of clean clothes and went for a bath after her fellow Gryffindors.

Breakfast was a stressful affair. While Ron had pulled Harry to sit by his side, leaving Hermione opposite them across the table, Lavender and Parvati had squeezed the bushy haired girl in between them. Ron was constantly glaring at Harry, and he was starting to feel annoyed at his relentless questioning.

"Blimey Harry, why won't you tell me where that phoenix came from?"

"Because. I. Don't. Know!" he answered, again, angrily squashing a perfect toast Hermione had been eyeing for some time before Harry beat her to it from the bread basket.

"And where did Dumbledore keep you all night?"

"We only spoke like fifteen minutes after you found me inside that birdcage--"

"Some birdcage," Ron grumbled, "that was the bloody Phoenix Dome!"

"Shhh! Ron, please! Dumbledore asked us to keep it quiet, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah..." the red-head said waving a dismissing hand. "Then what were you doing all night?"

"I believe it's none of your business, Ron. Can't you see Harry doesn't feel comfortable talking about it?"

"Who asked you? Keep your bossy nose aw--"

"Fine!" Harry yelled and hit his closed fist over the table.

He pulled Ron to his feet and motioned Hermione to follow them outside, through the main doors and onto the weathered stone steps. He made them sit on them and paced up and down, scratching the back of his head.

"Dumble--"

"Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry."

"Fine then, _Headmaster_ Dumbledore apologized to me for trying to separate me from you guys, but he didn't give any reason for it. As for the phoenix, he said it was his familiar named Fawkes, and that the bird had given me a very special privilege, whatever that means..."

"Really?" Hermione asked, excited curiosity written all over her face.

"Yeah. And as to where I've been all night," Harry looked at Hermione, who tensed her shoulders, "I spent it with Hermione, we talked and looked over some books till morning on the tower."

Harry expected the freckled boy to be annoyed, but the look of incredulity on Ron's face almost made him laugh. As it was, he barely managed to suppress it into a smile.

"You've been up all night talking t-to... To a _girl_?" Ron sputtered and pointed at the aforementioned girl, "_Gross!_"

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest and huffed, muttering "Honestly!" under her breath while Harry laughed and felt relieved that his friend hadn't noticed the preposition "on" instead of "in" the tower. For the first time in his life, Harry was grateful for Ms Vowel's English Language classes, because the roof over Gryffindor Tower would remain his and her secret for as long as he could keep it that way.

"And-- And _reading books_? Mental!" Ron added and stood up, patting Harry's back as if pitying him before telling them breakfast was getting cold and they should return to the table.

The bespectacled boy looked at the brown-eyed girl still sitting on the steps, extended his hand to her, blushed and helped her up. They shared a shy smile and, releasing their joined hands, walked side by side back into the Great Hall.

Helping himself to some eggs and sausage, Harry watched Professor McGonagall approaching and began to wonder what sort of trouble he was into now, when he remembered the scuffle during flying lesson yesterday. His shoulders slumped and he saw Hermione looking at him curiously, when all of the sudden the golden orb he had snatched out of the air in the strange office where he first saw Fawkes zoomed by his field of vision again.

He snapped his left arm up and grabbed it with barely a glance, feeling the same cold feeling up his arm and over his entire body, only this time the blue glow was quite stronger, almost blinding. The Gryffindor table fell silent immediately and someone dropped a fork, its clanging denoting the stillness around them.

"Mr Potter?" asked the Head of House from behind him, and Harry turned to see the most foreign smile in her usually stern face. He let go of the small sphere and it flew into Professor McGonagall's hand, where it shone brightly as well.

The older witch looked undecided for a second, she glanced up at the Staff Table and then tossed the object in Hermione's direction. She was startled and fumbled with it, but finally caught the golden orb with both hands, feeling a tingling up her arms making her shiver a little. It glowed as strongly as it did inside Harry's fist.

"Ms Granger, would you mind delivering the item in your hands to our esteemed headmaster? I'll escort Mr Potter to my office, and he'll join you soon for Divination class. Mr Wood, if you please?" she added and a tall, burly boy left the table, wearing a maniacal glint in his eyes Harry didn't enjoy too much.

Hermione nodded and excused herself. She walked up to Headmaster Dumbledore, holding the beaming sphere between her fingers. Upon her arrival, his expression was that of amazement, and Hermione had to look behind her back to see if there was anything out of the ordinary happening in the Great Hall.

Finding nothing strange, she turned to face the aged headmaster and told him Professor McGonagall had asked her to deliver the orb in her hand. Dumbledore extended his pale, long fingers and took the glowing sphere from her. It shone even brighter and she needed to turn her eyes away from it, until the old wizard placed the object inside his robes.

"Thank you Ms Granger," he said and looked at her above his half-moon spectacles. He shuffled the pointed hat over his head and lifted a white eyebrow at her. "Is there anything else?"

She gasped and looked down at her suddenly very interesting boots, "No sir! Sorry sir," she said and excused herself. Truth was, she had been remembering a certain gnome from her aunt Claire's front yard, the one wearing those same eyeglasses, identical beard and a similar hat, but she wasn't going to share that particular memory with the powerful Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Thinking of the suspicions Harry had been subjected to, suspicions that took a magical creature's intervention to put to rest, flooded Hermione's mind with possibilities and outcomes. Why did Professor Snape say he was _after_ something, looking for it? Whatever _it_ is, could it be related with the trapdoor Fluffy was guarding?

Nothing made sense, a phoenix is inherently drawn towards purity, goodness, and though she believed Harry embodied those qualities, he also had a very nasty temper and didn't hesitate to swing back, despite offering a forgiving hand first. Why did it take a phoenix to change Headmaster Dumbledore's opinion of him, then? And why Harry and not someone else?

Then there was the mirror and Harry's mother and father. Hermione was proud of her rationality, one of the things she tended to object about most people was their tendency to believe anything and everything without following proper logic and methodology for proving something as true or false. She frowned specially upon faith and religion. Not even the life-altering revelation that magic exists shook her staunch mentality, for even magic had a set of natural laws that bind it with the universe and gives it shape. James and Lily Potter in the mirror weren't real. Not even ghosts were properly dead but a pale and sorrowful echo of the people they once were, stuck on Earth and ever faced with the eternal question, or perhaps too fearful of it.

As she had soon discovered, the magical world faced the same questions that the muggle world did regarding the meaning of life and the existence of life beyond death.

She understood humanity's need for the divine, but god was nothing more than a convenient superstition to her. Hermione strived to know the world around her and the greater her knowledge, the lesser her need for tokens of all-powerful entities was.

Hermione finished her breakfast deep in thought, but still carefully selecting, cutting and dicing the food she ate. Harry had taken the only acceptable toast available, and she settled for a bowl of fruit instead. Gulping a well-shaken glass of pumpkin juice, she mused over large offices guarded by gargoyles, magical mirrors, and a singing phoenix that brought her friend into an strange room they didn't even know for certain was inside Hogwarts itself or somewhere else.

She laughed thinking that if this trend continued, they'd be facing more magical beasts than any Care of Magical Creatures syllabus could ever prepare them for! Ignoring the stares around her, she sighed when a blonde boy between goons arrived to cast a shadow over her finished breakfast plate.

"Tsk, tsk, Potter must be packing his trunk by now," the Malfoy boy drawled, "and you will be next to go, along with the rest of the mudblood filth!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" hissed Ron from across the table.

"Afraid of losing your only chance at befriending someone to leech from, Weasel?"

"Don't call me weasel!"

"Is there a problem, little brother?" a couple of larger shadows asked from behind the Slytherin trio, while Hermione continued to ignore the insults flying over her head.

The Weasley twins waved their wands about, crossed their arms, and glared at Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy, who raised his nose and left, not without first commenting on the stench of poverty and filth. The bullies didn't understand the cause of such raucous laughter following their departure, because they couldn't see that their robes and cloaks were wide open in the back, effectively exposing their pale buttocks to the entire Great Hall population.

"Honestly, you two!" Hermione reprimanded the twins, shielding her eyes from the trio of offending lower cheeks but failing to stifle her own laughter. She shook her head and watched the Slytherins trying to cover themselves and retreating towards their own table with their backs against the wall.

The morning owls arrived as they did every morning, bringing newspapers, letters and parcels to the hundreds of pupils in Hogwarts. One small brown owl with large, proud reddish-brown irises arrived holding parchment rolls and several muggle envelopes in its very small beak. "Scriptor! Thanks for bringing me these," Hermione spoke to the owl, and gave it a large portion of bread.

"What are those?" asked Ron, pointing at the white rectangular envelopes.

"Letters."

"And what are those drawings on them?"

"Stamps, Ron. This is how muggles know you've paid for mail delivery service."

By then Hermione was surrounded by Parvati and Lavender, who'd never seen a muggle envelope before, as well as Ron, Neville and finally Seamus, who had once delivered a letter using muggle Royal Mail but didn't understand that the stamps are supposed to be glued _outside_ the envelope, not enclosed within it.

"Cool! I didn't know owls picked Royal Mail too," Dean said over the huddled students.

"That's because-- Lavender, stop opening my mail! That's because they don't, Dean. This a favour from a witch friend of mine who has access to a muggle address," Hermione explained, slapping Lavender's hand away again. "Now shoo! All of you, or else we'll be late for Divination!"

She waved her classmates away and stood up, storing all her letters inside her robe and picking her rucksack from the floor. The references to find the Divination classroom indicated they needed to walk to the highest floor on the west wing of the castle, find the portrait of the Oracle Octavia O'Malley, and then turn right and upstairs.

Doing as instructed, she soon found no further steps but a rope ladder leading up to the ceiling and into a trapdoor. She sincerely hoped no three-headed dogs were waiting for her up there.

"Do you reckon we're supposed to climb?" Ron asked.

"Looks like it, unfortunately."

Ron grumbled and pushed Neville up first, then climbed and looked down at Hermione, who told him to go on because she would wait for Harry and ask him what happened with Professor McGonagall.

"I'm so excited! I can't wait to see my future!" exclaimed Lavender who had just arrived with Parvati.

"You can't really tell a person's future, only infer possibilities. And that's assuming you possess all encompassing knowledge of the universe, something that's actually impossible for a human being," Hermione retorted, already feeling anxious at the prospect of Divination and its lack of credibility.

Alone by the base of the ladder, Hermione sighed and climbed, finding herself nose to nose with a strange witch wearing the thickest spectacles she'd ever seen. Her hair was dishevelled and she wore heaps of necklaces and bracelets, noticing pendants and symbols for protection and good fortune, among fertility tokens and even a plastic "smiley" she must have found somewhere in the muggle world.

"As I foresaw, the last to enter these divining walls, from another world is!" the witch said, turning her head around to face the seated pupils.

"Of course, all you had to do was look downstairs to see me alone waiting for Harry. And only a muggle-born would recognize that," she said, indicating the yellow smiling face with her eyes.

"So young and nave... This is why I've pleaded with Albus three years ago not to give First and Second Years such a tremendous gift of developing their inner eye!"

Hermione placed a polite smile in her face and asked for permission to find a seat among the pouffes inside the draped, shadowed and incense-filled room. Joining a nervous looking Lisa Turpin and Parvati's identical Ravenclaw twin around a low table with a crystal ball in the middle, she took her parchment and quill out and kept waiting for Harry's messy hair to pop up through the closed trapdoor.

Class proved to be everything she feared it would be, and more. Fortune telling and future gazing by solving Teen Witch Weekly's last page puzzles wast the last straw, and she vowed to drop Divination as soon as her Third Year begun.

The trapdoor swivelled up, and a male voice spoke. "Excuse me Professor Trelawney, I have a--"

"Say no more, child... Yes, Harry Potter is excused from today's lesson, and please be sure to tell Professor McGonagall to mind her hat today?"

"Er... Certainly, professor," the boy answered and bowed. He excused himself again and the trapdoor closed.

The assembled class gasped and began murmuring among themselves, while Hermione crossed her arms in annoyance. Of course Professor Trelawney concluded this, since the only missing pupil from her name list was Harry! And only her Head of House has authority to write a pass and ask an upperclassman to deliver it. She couldn't believe such gullibility.

Taking her time to exit the stifling room, Hermione rolled her eyes at some of the girls' commentaries, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. It was bad enough that even Lisa scowled at her for saying a crossword puzzle from Teen Witch Weekly was so random and disconnected from reality that nothing could be inferred from it regarding one's immediate future.

She really had no social skills, and this first week of school only served to prove that no matter what world she lived in, she'd always be an opinionated outcast. Perhaps that's the reason she felt so at ease with Harry, for he was victim to his fame and prowess, making him unreachable and different from everyone else, even though his greatest desire was to be "just Harry" as he confessed in the wee small hours of today.

A broad smile threatened to split her face when she descended the ladder. Harry was standing against the banister, surrounded by the four Gryffindor boys and gesticulating with his arms, explaining something to them.

"... and then Oliver just called me back to the ground and McGonagall sent me back up here," Harry told them.

"But-- But that's impossible! I mean you'd be the youngest seeker in like a thousand years!" Ron said, and Harry's smile doubled.

"In a century, actually. Give or take a few years."

Harry noticed Hermione and walked over to her, his eyes were sparkling despite the large bags given their lack of sleep and she noticed the happiness etched on his face. "Guess what?" he asked her.

"I realize I've just had Divination, but I can tell you immediately that it's all really woolly! I can only guess the meeting with Professor McGonagall went well?"

"She offered me a spot in the quidditch team! McGonagall saw me fly and catch your silver thingie yesterday and said I've got a natural talent for it!"

She tilted her head, looking curiously at him for a second, before opening her mouth to speak, "Harry, are you--"

"I know, Hermione..."

"But--"

"I _know_, and I'm not falling for it again," he told her, silently conveying the fact he wasn't going to blindly trust someone like he did with Mr Harper. He would embrace his talent for flying as he did with music, but on his own terms.

"Will it make you happy?" she asked, although the answer was plain to see on his face.

"Very much, yeah. But I haven't decided yet."

"What about your music? Did you ask Mrs McGonagall if there's any possibility for continuing your piano studies?"

"_That_ was the only request I had. Oliver didn't understand it, you see, but he insisted I should play after watching me catch this flying golden thing with wings... Ron, what's the name of that thing again?"

"It's called a _snitch_, and you _have_ to play! I mean what's there to think about?" Ron told him, shaking his head.

As the group left the castle for Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione asked for clarification on who Oliver was and Harry explained he was the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain. He also explained that although there was no music club in Hogwarts except for the choir and its accompanying toads, their Head of House would be providing a suitable instrument and a room for him to play. It was part of the arrangement and the only condition he put forward before deciding to accept or decline his role in the Quidditch Team.

Harry was happy. No, it was more than that, it was the same feeling he had when his friend kissed the side of his face on the roof. It was joy. He also felt better about himself after confessing eleven years of his life; the good, the bad and the strange.

She had listened without interrupting or passing judgement. Not only that, but Hermione had actually found _him_ worthy of listening to her own life! She was older than him by nine months and a veritable genius, someone who could tell you everything about anything you asked. He didn't understand her passion for people's equality and animal rights, however, but then again he hadn't been raised around animals nor had experienced much of the world beyond Privet Drive itself and Mrs Figg's house.

Walking slightly behind Hermione, flanked by Neville and Ron, who was hysterically trying to convince Harry to join the team as well as explaining the rules and intricacies of Quidditch, he continued to mull over his before dawn experience with the amazing bushy haired girl. Was it proper for him to spend time with her? Probably not, if Ron's reaction to it was any indication. Yet it felt right to be wanted, to know he was important to someone, and that was enough for him.

* * *

Spending detention along with Ron, Neville and Hermione was customary by now, and despite the fact they were forbidden from speaking to each other while scrubbing nasty cauldrons and dirty dungeon floors, Harry and the boys and girl whom he now considered true friends had developed a strange way of communicating and sharing things in silence.

Ron had grown tired of Harry's constant excuses and apologies, finally whacking him on the head with a filthy floor brush while telling him he was fine with it all, as well as mouthing the word quidditch again, hoping to convince him to take the Seeker spot in the Gryffindor team. Neville had gone over his shyness to actually laugh at the scene, but had stopped abruptly upon Professor Snape's swooping entry into the dank part of the dungeon they were scrubbing.

After about an hour of work, Hermione arched her back to pop her spinal vertebrae back together, and caught a glimpse of Ron's perfect imitation of the uninspiring flobberworm they'd been assigned to capture and feed before lunch in Care of Magical Creatures. He was laying on the floor half asleep and inching his way forward with one soapy brush in each hand. Harry and she weren't much more awake either and her eyelids were drooping, blurring her vision.

She glanced back at Neville and he grinned at Ron's impersonation before turning back to inspect the area he had just finished cleaning. Professor Snape looked up from the precision weighing scales catalogue he'd been browsing and watched the time, three minutes to seven in the evening, before casting a sneer in Harry's direction and unabashedly using the point of his left shoe for tipping a bucket of muddy potions gone bad all over the floor in front of him.

Not soon enough the quartet found itself relaxing and recomposing their bodies in the common room, but their lack of privacy prevented openly talking about their week full of adventure and discoveries, or mysteries rather. While fighting sleep and trying to keep their heads from rolling back instead, they discussed how interesting Ramified Magic with Professor Ismail Almohacid had been. As a fairly recent subject to be integrated into the Hogwarts curriculum, Ramified Magic was poorly structured and the syllabus quite condensed, much like the Defence Against the dark Arts was.

"I'd reckon wand magic was the only important kind, uh?"

"Yes, but it'd be nice to know more. The professor said there's a whole lot of wizards that use rituals instead of wands."

"But that's not very practical, is it?" Hermione said and yawned, "However the whole concept of..." Another yawn. "...Of magicks related to the elements and using crystals was..." Double yawn. "...Was very interesting."

Harry released a string of yawns to rival Hermione's and shook his head to try and clear his mind, but finally gave up and simply slumped back into the sofa, closing his eyes and leaving consciousness altogether. Ron snapped his fingers on his face and poked him in the ribs, but gave up with a chuckle and a shrug.

Neville and Hermione laughed as well, and the Gryffindor girl nagged the remaining boys to finish their work before twirling on her feet and leaving for her own bedroom. The last she heard from the common room was a rude comment regarding her being a, in Ron's words, bloody nightmare.

In another time, in another world, the rude name-calling and derogatory words directed at her would've caused much more than the deep disappointment they did now, because even if she was half expecting them, they still hurt, and they still opened unhealed wounds far deeper than the scar marring her body. She threw her things over the end of the bed and curled around a pillow, plunging into the eerie world of dreams.

* * *

First weekend at Hogwarts became, as expected, a one of a kind experience. Harry woke with a terrible cramp in his neck around four o'clock Saturday morning to find himself bent over the side of a sofa, an arm sprawled over the floor and missing one of his shoes.

"Morning! Sssleep well?"

"Whaaa... Ouch!" he yelled after toppling over and landing spread-eagled on the deep red shaggy rug.

Spitting lint and hairs of indistinct origin, he pat the ground looking for his eyeglasses, dismissing a broken quill and some candy wrappers before feeling his unmistakeable round black frames. Able to see clearly again, he stood up and looked around the darkened common room for the snake voice that greeted him.

Blacksnout was curled by the hearth, basking in the faint warm coming from the embers in it. But what intrigued him was the animal's appearance.

"What happened to your legsss?" Harry asked.

"There wasss thisss deliciousss looking rat deep inside a hole in the wall, but I couldn't reach it because of my legsss," the boa explained, "then they sssimply disssappeared!"

"Oh bother! Pleassse tell me you didn't eat Ssscabbersss!"

"Nah, red-haired babakuara's foul-sssmelling rat livesss. A boa keepsss itsss promisssessss! Sssay, did I ever tell you about the rattle-sssnake in the cage next to me? That wasss a dumb reptile if I've ever ssseen one, it managed to..."

Harry tuned out the boa's gossip and began looking for his missing shoe, finding it on a shelf between the bronze bust of Godric Gryffindor and an old brass chandelier whose candles were still lit. He picked it and Gryffindor's head frowned at him, but Harry simply shrugged in apology and struggled to put the shoe on while jumping on one foot back and forth to keep his balance.

He began to pace the room, thinking about the decision he needed to make regarding Quidditch, as well as pondering the many mysteries he was faced with. An apologetic Headmaster, possible animagus traits, a trapdoor guarded by a ferocious beast and a crazy firebird dominated his thoughts. His feet guided him to the hidden passageway and ladder leading to the tower roof but found it already occupied after lifting the trapdoor. Hermione was there.

"Morning Hermione," he greeted, plopping down by her left side, but a few inches back. Harry still wouldn't approach the edge of the tall tower so confidently as she did.

"Hello," she greeted back, but didn't lift her face from her crossed arms resting on her bent knees.

"I came here to think a bit, I didn't know you--"

"I'll leave you to it then, Harry," she said and made to stand up.

Surprised by her reply and impeded by the early morning darkness, he failed to notice the dried tear streaks on her face. Instead, Harry looked up at her retreating back wondering what happened. He wasn't good with words but his body could act upon that which he couldn't express.

Holding her arm and pulling her to him before she could leave, he awkwardly climbed a few feet up the conic roof with her on tow, until the steep angle forced them to stop and sit. Harry looked up at the pole bearing the fluttering Gryffindor House banner before locking eyes with hers and commanding her to speak. "Tell me."

"I'm horrible! Ron hates me. Neville fears me. The girls think I'm a fre-- I mean, that I'm strange," she corrected, avoiding the word freak he loathed so much. "Would you hate me too? If we... I we hadn't met a-all those years ago?" she asked between choked sobs.

"No, I wouldn't hate you... And Hermione, I don't think you're horrible..."

"Oh..."

Silence ensued and she seemed to calm down after a while since her breathing returned to normal, so Harry took the chance to talk with her about all that was troubling him regarding the Headmaster and his phoenix, the lack of information on animagi and Fluffy's odd guardian duty. They discussed theories and ideas until first rays of sunlight, by which time they had agreed that his intentional isolation on behalf of the school staff and Fluffy's secret must be related, since Snape was so adamant about him being after something that night.

"Please don't take this the wrong way Harry, but I'm certain of it. It's the only explanation for what happened."

"He believes I'm evil then?"

Hermione chewed her lower lip for a few seconds, before replying. "No, I don't presume to know what Professor Snape believes, but I heard him referring to you as if you were--"

She stopped talking and Harry waved a hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention back.

"Quit doing that!" she said in a huff, "Do you remember when Professor McGonagall brought us before the older wizards that banished those flashy sock-hangers of yours?"

"Ha, ha. Funny you," Harry replied with a scowl, wondering what that particular evening, when the effects of his outburst in Potions were finally removed from their bodies, had to do with anything. "Yeah, I remember. Why?"

"They were looking at your forehead, Harry. Not only at your antlers, but at your fore-- And that's when he said you were possessed!"

Her last word struck him hard, and Harry squirmed down the moist shingles. He didn't understand her reasoning but possession was an unsettling word by itself, let alone when combined with a suspicion of being evil.

"The Headmaster cut Professor Snape's words short, but how... How could a professor be so... So prejudiced and unkind!" she raved, flailing her arms around in wide circles.

"Hermione, I don't follow what you're talking about." Harry was feeling embarrassed next to the workings of Hermione's sharp mind. He never spent much time memorizing or understanding the world around him, even a simple school assignment was a challenge for him! Surely the pressure of never achieving higher grades than Dudley was a contributing factor, but he'd been much happier creating music or admiring beautiful melody anyway. The rationality and deep thought the girl sitting next to him displayed was beyond his grasp in his opinion, and he was quite uncomfortable not being able to keep up with her.

Watching the confusion in her friend's eyes, Hermione berated herself for always jumping to conclusions without considering other people's insight, unable to ask for other points of view. "Always a dork," she mumbled, ashamed of ignoring Harry in something that was affecting him primarily.

Because other children always taunted her habits and her looks, she would constantly retreat inside her mind and her books. But now she had a true friend in Harry, a boy who could _create_ beautiful music! Not just repeat and dissect the world around him like she did, but actually make something amazing come out of nowhere! She admired him for his art and felt sad for being so below him, yet eternally grateful for his friendship despite her self-perceived deficiencies.

"Mind you, I'm beginning to believe that Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore concluded you were evil and possessed because of your scar and survival from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That is until Fawkes befriended you, which proved beyond doubt you're neither evil nor possessed!"

"So..." Harry replied, "When he apologized for isolating me, he was actually apologizing for thinking me as evil as Voldemort?"

"Honestly Harry, must you keep repeating _that_ name?" she reprimanded him, crossing her arms.

"Why not? It's just a name isn't--"

"Wrong, it isn't _just_ a name. When I asked my friend Miranda, she told me saying that name would summon the very dark wizard himself to one's home!"

"Well he's either gone for good or dead, 'cause I've said Voldemort lots of times and my parents' murderer hasn't come a-knocking on my door," Harry said.

Hermione bit her lip again, for she had no real verification of her claim. Despite her usual rationality, the fear the darkest wizard of all times and his followers had instilled upon the magical world had made her accept Mrs Morewitt's brief and reluctant explanation as true, and the fact the very text of the Wizengamot Enquiries book neglected to call him by name further helped her assimilate that fear.

"I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't mean to upset you."

She looked at him with a surprised face, because she couldn't find a flaw in his argument. The only unanswered question was this dark wizard's ultimate fate, but like Harry said, it's only a name. "I'm not upset, and... And you're ri-- I mean your conclusion is sound, and I'll do my best not to fear that name."

"What name?" he asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smile.

"You know, _him_!"

"You-Know-Him?"

"Urgh! Fine, his name is... His name's V-voldemort! _There_, I said it," she huffed, but then her eyes widened. "V-voldie... Voldemort is simply a name, and if I can name my fear... Oh Harry, you're a genius!"

Knocked out by a fierce hug and struggling to breathe, he fell back and slid down the roof with his friend attached to him, until planting the soles of his shoes on the edge of the trapdoor leading back into Gryffindor Tower. The ear to ear smile on his face after being praised by Hermione was reflected by an equally sincere expression on her own lips.

They untangled themselves in a flash when a loud hoot passed over their heads, the white plumage blocking the rising sun giving the owl a unique ethereal look. Harry extended his arm and Hedwig landed firmly, digging its talons in his forearm.

Hedwig's sudden appearance reminded them of Fawkes, and Hermione decided it would be interesting to ask Ron and Neville everything they knew about the Phoenix Dome, as it seemed to be a wizard myth or fable and they would certainly know it by heart, much like The Joyful Gryffin and the Golden Muffin little children's tale.

The mirror inside the strange room and the petrified tree, however, were another matter. Harry felt it wasn't something he should share with anyone beyond Hermione, and besides he still had a very fuzzy recollection of what happened there in the first place.

"Did you know Blacksnout is a real snake again?" Harry asked while climbing down the ladder with his owl perched on the left shoulder.

"No, I didn't know that. He's become quite attached to you actually, given your... Er... Communication capabilities," she replied and jumped the last few steps before opening the hidden door behind the tapestry. She lifted it a little and peeked from under it, finding only a couple of early-risen seventh year boys inside the common room.

They made their way along the wall and dashed in what they though was a calm and nonplussed manner towards the large couch by the fire, when in fact they couldn't have looked guiltier. Sighing when the upperclass boys simply ignored them and left through the portrait hole, Harry picked his book bag and handed Hermione a roll of parchment, a quill and ink before she even requested it. He hadn't returned to his bedroom since the previous evening and took the chance to do so, leaving his friend to write down everything they had recently discussed.

Harry found it odd that Hedwig had come to him bearing no letters. Not that he was complaining at all since he most certainly enjoyed her company, but feeling her watching him undress for a bath was, to say the least, a novel experience. He jumped quickly into the bathtub and the self-adjusting temperature charm kicked in, making him sigh and rest his head on the porcelain edge while closing his eyes.

He heard Hedwig hoot and shake herself, and without opening his eyes easily located and followed her flight across the large lavatory, from the tall towel wardrobe to the windowsill. He examined his surroundings using his hearing only; the rustle of feathers, the faint sloshing of water against his skin, the sound of erupting fire?!

"What the--"

Whack!

Water surrounded him in all sides but for some strange reason it allowed him to breathe. His motions were jumbled, however, and he suddenly remembered that swimming up only forced his body downwards to the impossibly green fire on the rocky bottom flooded by purple mist. With this knowledge in mind, Harry took a few calming breaths and floated freely, allowing the currents to drag him along without resisting any further.

* * *

After cross-referencing, labelling and colour-coding their many quests, Hermione began to scribble a relational chart, using her wand to enlarge and move words and concepts around, binding them with dashed or continuous lines depending on their significance. She was twirling the words "secret chamber" and linking them to both Fluffy and Fawkes when a crazed boy wearing a half-wrapped towel around his hips and sporting an unflattering soap-bubble-wig came running down the boys' stairway, yelling at the top of his lungs.

"_I know what the symbol on the you-know-what where you-know-who brought me you-know-when to prove you-know-them that I'm alright is!_"

She was so startled she fell off her chair, throwing quill and parchment on the air, and stared up at the almost naked lunatic jumping up and down from her low vantage point on the floor before blowing a few curls of hair from her face. "Harry? Are you feeling well?"

Hermione's eyes wandered up and down, looking over her friend's very pale and skinny figure while he bounced on his feet, until his Gryffindor emblazoned towel lost the necessary grip to stay put. She blushed madly and covered her face, but not without first concluding that Harry _is_ most definitely and unmistakeable a boy.

Mortified beyond words, he squeaked loudly and covered himself with both hands before turning and bolting back upstairs while Hedwig swooped down and gracefully perched herself on the fireplace mantle. Hermione peeked from behind her hands, finding the room deserted again but for an owl rolling its eyes and hooting a tiny snort. She finally climbed back to her seat and organized her scattered parchments, willing her face to go down from glowing Weasley-red to an acceptable soft crimson at the very least.

She picked the discarded towel and paused, biting her lower lip and looking around the still empty common room. Deciding to borrow a page from Harry's unending impulsiveness, she dashed up to her room clutching her research in one hand and the gold-coloured drying cloth in the other, pushing the door open and tip-toeing inside in order to avoid waking her room-mates up.

Choosing her clothes for the day, she wondered if she could purchase the neatly folded towel now buried under her witch dresses and tucked reverently next to her puzzles and books. Making up her mind to speak with Mrs McGonagall before breakfast, she walked to the lavatory before that blasted magical alarm clock on Lavender's bed-side table maimed yet another line from the simple hair removal potion recited by Macbeth's Three Witches.

She briefly wondered which Lord or Lady had lost all his or her hair in the Scottish Court of the day.

Shrugging to herself and removing her cloak, Hermione strolled out of her bedroom towards the lavatory looking forward to a very long bath. One that might help remove all embarrassing visual imagery of a nude Harry and rein her mind back to the tasks at hand. Her greatest question was _why_. Why would the teaching staff suspect Harry of being an evil person unless they had cause to do so?

To answer that question they would have to answer many other questions first. What was, or perhaps still is, being guarded by Fluffy? Why and where was he taken by one of the most magical creatures on Earth? Did they know of his abuse in the hands of his relatives, which she was certain was worse than what Harry revealed to her? What happened to him as a baby when his parents were killed?

Not knowing how to answer any of these questions, she took a deep breath and dove under the scented, bubbly water, giggling at what Parvati and Lavender would say if they ever knew Harry had bared it all in front of her.

* * *

Harry was sure his neck would crack any moment now, and food had never been less appetizing than right now. He wished he could have stayed under his covers all day. Well, under his _bed_ was even better. The same wish to be buried underground that surfaced when he learned of Professor McGonagall's animagus form hit him in full force again.

Sitting with his neck bent impossibly downwards, he failed to see Hermione leave her place in the table and walk to sit next to him, on the other side of Ron and in front of Neville.

"Would you mind visiting Hagrid today?" she asked, immediately drawing his attention to her.

He looked up and turned bright red, lowering his face again and moaning something nobody understood. Ron suggested he was probably speaking in Parseltongue with "that blasted snake" and Hermione knocked him on the back of his head, scolding him for language and hushing him at the same time.

"Yes, that'd be nice... A-and I'm sorry for... You know, er..."

"Never mind that," Hermione answered with blushed cheeks, "let's go now if you're finished?"

Together the four left the table and left under the watchful eye of several professors and the many distrustful glances from pupils sitting in the house tables. Hermione led them out to the grounds and paused to let her reptile familiar slide down to the tall grass, before straightening up and falling in step with Harry, who was still looking down at his feet.

"If it makes you feel better, I felt just as embarrassed as you were," she whispered.

He turned a little to face her directly and held her eyes with his. The instantaneous connection between them lasted but mere seconds, yet they managed to bypass words and twist time to last until they blinked, coming to the realization that they were able to feel comfortable with what happened despite the initial awkwardness.

Harry grinned and stood straighter, puffing his chest and drawing a chuckle from Hermione who swapped him in the back. "Don't get too full of yourself, Mr Potter," she said.

"But I thought you found me cute?"

"Yes, in that picture of you as a _baby_, Harry!"

He leaned closer to her, fighting the flock of baths in his belly and his galloping heart, "And now?"

With a tiny shrug and a furious blush, she looked at the scrawny boy who allowed her to witness his real self, who shared his dreams and fears. "No, now you're just pretty..."

That answer froze him where he stood and Neville bumped into Harry sending them both sprawling on the ground. The chubby boy apologized and rolled off Harry's back, with the unfortunate luck of stepping on his spectacles while doing it. The crushing sound made Neville pale and Ron burst laughing along with Hermione, who pointed her wand to them and incanted "reparo".

They helped the boys off the ground and continued down to Hagrid's, knocking on his oversized door. When nobody answered, they looked around and heard the sound of shovels and barking coming from the other side of the hut.

Harry held them back for a moment, and then one by one they peeked over a rough fence. There on a sloped area stood Hagrid, waving his pink umbrella at a set of shovels and forks that were ploughing the earth while Fang the boarhound barked at them.

"Morning Hagrid!"

"Mornin' children," he greeted back, taking enormous strides over the recently disturbed ground. "Me an' Fang been preppin' a pumpkin' patch! Oh, an' please don't tell any'un 'bout, yeh know... I'm not supposed ter be doin' magic at all..." he whispered conspiratorially.

Never one to ponder before acting, however, Harry ignored the big man's plea and blurted his question as soon as he towered over them. "Where's Fluffy?"

Hermione actually growled and slapped her forehead while Ron helped Neville from under Fang's paws, but to her surprise, Hagrid actually answered.

"Ah, don't yeh worry 'bout Fluffy, he's fine an' guarding the... Uhhh... Would yeh care fer a cuppa?"

"Guarding what, Hagrid?"

Using his big hands, he pushed the four of them inside the hut and busied himself with tea, evading any further questions, but Harry was getting angry. After he asked the same thing for the fifth time, Hermione decided it was time for a more subtle approach. She gave Harry a pointed look and his features softened, sending a tired smile back at her.

"Have you ever cared for other large creatures like that blue cerberus we met?"

"Aye, been lookin' after many creatures alright..." His beady eyes lost focus and drifted up to the ceiling at that, "Fluffy's only a couple years old, an' I've always wanted a dragon meself!"

Ron jumped on his seat and sloshed some tea, "My brother Charlie works with dragons," he said.

"Good boy Charlie! Best seeker Gryffindor's had fer years. Team's been a disaster ever since..."

"Until Harry, that is," Ron interrupted, "unless he's still stubborn about the whole bloody thing."

Ron then proceeded to tell Hagrid all about the opportunity Professor McGonagall was offering Harry, much to his annoyance, and telling him _again_ that it would be stupid to turn the offer of being the youngest seeker in a hundred years down. Wanting to return to her subtle line of questioning, Hermione spoke before the subject of Harry's decision whether to play quidditch or not escalated.

"What are the practical uses of dragons or three-headed dogs, for instance?"

Hagrid took a moment to collect his knowledge and launched into a thorough reply including the uses of large magical creatures as sentinels, of rumours regarding mysterious sphinxes and the twelve uses of dragon blood discovered by Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Great man Dumbledore, he's been workin' with Nicolas Flamel and now Fluffy's guarding their... Errr... Uhmmm... Been' sayin' too much again, just forget I've said anythin' alright?"

Neville looked over his cup of tea with raised eyebrows, and Harry hid a smirk while Hermione continued to chat with Hagrid and Ron about dragons. A name was better than nothing, and Harry knew it was a good starting point for their quest.

He took time to think about all that happened to him the past couple of nights. Watching what could have been in the mirror had taken a toll on him, because he desired it to happen so much it hurt. Headmaster Dumbledore had confessed things to him after Fawkes allowed him out of the Phoenix Dome, once he dismissed his friends and they sat in conjured chairs under the screeching owls.

He confessed separating Harry from his friends had been a difficult decision and apologized for instructing the teaching staff to do so; he confessed seeing many people waste their lives in front of the mirror and how much it pained him to watch Harry entranced by its fake reflection. That led to a confession that the Headmaster had been following him in disguise, but lost him when Fawkes took him away in a ball of fire.

Harry had told his Headmaster that he saw his mother and father in the mirror, and laughed heartily at Dumbledore's confession that he saw himself being given a most comfortable pair of woolly socks. The older wizard then requested him and his friends to withhold information that the Phoenix Dome had been found and pointed his wand up at the bell shaped cage, causing it to shimmer and vanish from sight.

For some reason, he hadn't asked about the petrified tree nor confessed his strange dreams, and now that he knew what the coat of arms on it was thanks to Fawkes, Harry still felt compelled to keep that from the Headmaster. Besides, he had promised himself not to trust adults, wizard or muggle, ever since the only adult to have found him worthy of anything had lied and used him for his own purposes.

"Hermione must hear this first," he concluded, before sipping the last of his tea and feeling his face go red again for making a fool of himself earlier. What was he thinking, leaving the loo in a rush wearing nothing but a towel? It did have an unexpected result however, that she actually told him _he_ was pretty!

"Eat your heart out, Dudley. Someone that _isn't_ my mum actually likes me!" he mumbled under his breath, while accepting a refill from Hagrid.

* * *

Harry woke up with a start on Sunday, facing a reptilian triangular head with a pair of beady eyes. "Whatcha doin' here?" he hissed while rubbing his eyes.

"Abaeteh isss good to me, but can't ssspeak like you," Blacksnout replied, uncurling himself from the beam above Harry's head and sliding down to coil on top of the vacated warm pillow. "By the way, white bird came with a letter for you, sssnake whisssperer."

He glared back at the boa and it winked back. "Better than Boy-Who-Lived, I guess..." he said and stretched, pulling the curtains open and searching for his eyeglasses. Next to them was a folded piece of parchment from Head of House McGonagall, asking him to be present in front of her office at nine o'clock. Looking out the window, he calculated it was already past eight and zoomed out of the bedroom, leaving four snoring boys and one snake behind.

Meanwhile inside the first year girls' bedroom, Hermione sat with her back against the headrest writing on parchment. She was finishing several letters, the first one for her uncle Charles, one for her cousin Bernadette, another for her only muggle friend Annie and a longer one for her witch friend Mrs Morewitt.

She thanked the older witch for accepting her earlier condolences for her family, and expressed her gratitude that this knowledge would not affect their relationship. Hermione also thanked her for helping with letters addressed to muggle people, and for making the effort of keeping contact with her aunt and uncle despite the huge cultural differences.

Weighing the pros and cons of asking Miranda whether she had any knowledge of mythical phoenix dwellings or enormous fossilized trees, she added a last paragraph with a few questions on that regard. Sealing the four missives, she stacked them on her bedside table and prepared for a quick bath and breakfast with her friend.

Across the castle, three floors down, a nervous and still undecided first year Gryffindor boy paced back and forth in front of Professor McGonagall's office. He had looked at the time on the common room clock and left immediately as it ticked seven minutes to nine in the morning. He calculated no more than five minutes at a brisk pace and hoped to have arrived in time to make a good impression on his Head of House, since most if not all previous encounters were clearly disappointing for her.

"Good morning Mr Potter," she greeted and Harry jumped a little, being too consumed by his inner thoughts to notice the door opening.

"Good morning Deputy Headmistress. I received a note from you, ma'am?"

"That's correct. Walk with me," she said and strolled down the corridor, taking one flight of stairs up and turning left towards the eastern side of the fourth floor, close to the Ravenclaw dormitory if he remembered correctly.

Reaching for a door between identical doors to the right and left of the hallway, Mrs McGonagall pushed it open and stepped aside, allowing Harry to enter the larger than expected room. He gasped and stood still, slowly scanning the amphitheatre seating to his right, the arched ceiling and large, leaded glass cathedral windows facing the morning sun.

The wall to his left was lined with a couple of bookcases and a comfortable sofa under a large painting, and two white linen sheets covered the unmistakeable shapes of concert pianos. The stern professor waved her wand and uncovered the first instrument, making him whistle and turn his face up to her.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, pausing to gather his breathing, "Wow! Professor, are these conjured or...?"

"That's an original, Mr Potter. Built in 1844 by Mr Steinweg in his own Saxon workshop. It _is_ part of Durmstrang's estate on loan to us, despite their hundred years of muggle loathing, so do be careful."

"Durmstrang, ma'am?"

"Smaller magic school. Now this one," she said and uncovered the second grand piano with her wand, "is a modern Steinway Concert Grand Piano, a model tuned for medium-sized rooms like this one."

Mrs McGonagall then looked appraisingly at him over her lenses and straightened her robes. "Do not assume these offers are meant to force you into doing something you do not wish to, Mr Potter. These are opportunities that if other students have enough talent or interest can also participate in," she explained.

"Professor, I-- I don't know what to say..."

"I've witnessed your aptitude for quidditch, yet I haven't experienced your piano playing skills. Perhaps you could entertain your professor's request?"

Harry looked up at the stern looking witch with such a grateful expression that moved her back a few steps, then walked to the bookcase to look for a suitable music score. Running his eyes over the leather bound tomes bearing composer names, both muggle and magical, including a Musidora Barkwith he remembered hearing the Sorting Hat telling him about, he finally chose Sir Arthur Bliss.

Bliss' simplest piano sonata was an incredibly difficult piece to tackle, especially with late and interrupted training and not being a natural-born musical genius himself, but Harry learned many important things this past week. One of them being that magic requires concentration, technique and intent. Just like music.

And yet, all concentration, technique and intent wouldn't be enough to create wonderful things, in magic and in music. One needs emotion to do so.

So Harry gathered himself, remembered the feelings of happiness and joy, emotions he discovered with his guardian angel Hermione, and read the score twice for a few minutes while Professor McGonagall leaned back on a conjured chair by the centre of the room.

Watching a small boy dwarfed by the sheer size of the instrument in front of him, whose thin and frail arms would barely reach the corners of the keyboard, soaring over the opening notes of a piano sonata was eye opening.

Minerva McGonagall had been a little disappointed by young Harry Potter. He had barely arrived in Hogwarts and was already implicated in trouble, only to be found wandering the halls after hours that very same evening! Harry reacted poorly to their first encounter in class as well, displaying a lack of focus legendary to his own father, and was then given detention in his first day. Not to mention the odd transfigurations his classmates and him suffered, which she was certain were an undiscovered method of revealing animagus tendencies.

The worst came when he was caught running away from Hagrid's cerberus. What on Merlin's name was he thinking? That folly alone gave credibility to Severus' absurd suspicions, until a phoenix of all creatures kidnapped him from Albus' office. To say Harry had made an exceptional entrance into Hogwarts School was an understatement.

As was deeming his current performance to be breathtaking.

She remembered to breathe all of the sudden, steadied her jaw and closed her eyes, letting the beautiful music wash over her. This was _nothing_ like a charmed instrument, repetitive and dull. This was an overwhelming, magical experience of the likes she had seldom participated in.

Twenty minutes later, Professor McGonagall opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a handful of students and teachers alike, including Harry's three closest friends and Headmaster Dumbledore himself.

Harry had finished playing and was resting his hands over still pressed keys, his spectacles hanging dangerously over the tip of his nose and his messy black hair moist by the physical effort. He smiled to himself and turned right to face his solitary audience, startled at finding much more people than only Professor McGonagall sitting in the room.

The raucous applause Hermione initiated and others followed, albeit with lesser intensity, made him glow red in the face. He nervously wrung his hands and walked away to replace the music score in the bookcase, turning back to face his expanded audience and a bouncing bushy-haired girl.

"Harry that was _amazing_!" she told him, "We were going down to the Great Hall for breakfast and heard the music, and then Professor Dumbledore ran past us and then we found you playing and you were so focused and--"

"Hermione! Breathe," he commanded, and then shook her slightly by the shoulders.

"Oh, right... I was babbling, wasn't I? Sorry..."

Headmaster Dumbledore stood before him with a mad twinkle in his eyes and a big smile under his flowing white beard. "That was quite a masterful performance, Mr Potter. Do you realize that our own bodies make and enjoy music from conception to death, for rhythm, cadence and harmony are a part of every organic and inorganic element in the universe?"

The silence and awe around the headmaster must have been expected, because his smile only grew bigger.

"I dare say today the stars are singing, our hearts are dancing and one of the greatest magicks of old has graced these ancient halls for a short while," the old wizard concluded, tipping his pointy hat before leaving the room and disappearing beyond the door.

Magicks of old indeed, Harry believed, because somehow playing inside Hogwarts gave him a stronger connection with the castle and its magic. He could actually _feel_ the waves of harmonic sounds reacting to something, feeding from his fingers but giving back into his body. That something must be the old magic his headmaster spoke about.

He watched a couple of older pupils leave behind Professor Sprout, who gave him a cheerful wave with her hand, and then turned to face his friends, who were enthusiastically looking and touching the two grand pianos along with Professor McGonagall.

"Mr Potter I must confess that I was somewhat sceptical of your request, however you've proven me wrong in many ways so far," Mrs McGonagall told him and waved her wand at an empty painting of a music studio. "Joseph, kommen Sie nach vorn, bitte?"

An old man wearing dark robes adorned with a single silver star hanging on his chest approached from a bench in the corner of the painted room. He had long, white hair and a severe look in his wrinkled eyes, which he focused intently on Harry.

"This is Joseph, he'll be in charge of your musical training, should you choose to continue it." Mrs McGonagall then paused and added, "It has been decades since Hogwarts had a music club... Perhaps you could inspire something in that regard?"

Leaving that question hanging in the air, the older witch exited the room and vanished down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Her departure left Harry alone with Ron, Neville, Hermione and an unnervingly quiet portrait.

Harry rounded his friends and explained the significance of the two instruments to them, and who Heinrich Steinweg, later known as Steinway was, as well as how his craftsmanship improved and evolved into the modern concert piano.

"Trials for quidditch team are scheduled for tomorrow evening," Ron insisted, "I'd reckon you better give up this piano rubbish, I mean wizards don't have do it by hand you know?"

Hermione swung her arm to clip Ron in the head, but the boy shied away and dodged the attack. "Doing it _by hand_ is precisely why it's so amazing, Ron!" she yelled at him, "What's the point in charming an instrument to follow a music sheet if it lacks a soul behind it?"

The smile in Harry's face couldn't be broader, it was almost painful. She understood, she truly understood what it was all about.

Ron threw his arms on the air in exasperation while Neville shrugged and turned to leave. Harry picked the linen sheets from the floor and covered the pianos, sighed and turned to walk next to Hermione out of his music room, closing the door behind him. He then realized the answer to his dilemma wasn't really a matter of choice, and that he had already applied a solution to a similar problem earlier in the week.

"It isn't about choosing between music _or_ quidditch. I shouldn't think in such absolutes, I'd rather try to handle both!" he thought, and then beat Hermione to the only grapefruit she had deemed appropriately round and orange enough to eat that morning for breakfast.

* * *

Notes:

1.- Ramified Magic: Other kinds of magic as used and recognized by the I.C.W. (International Confederation of Wizards) around the world. Taught by Professor Ismail Almohacid.

2.- Translations:  
- "Abaeteh" / Indigenous Tupi-Guarani (Brazil); abaet / friend, honourable person.  
- "Kommen Sie nach vorn, bitte?" / German / Come forward, please?

3.- I must confess this chapter slipped out of my hands. It was supposed to be small but it grew too much. And yes, I know it's a lot about nothing, however some events are important for this twisted tale.

4.- Sir Arthur Bliss is a British composer, please look him up on your available encyclopaedia or the web for more information. I'm particularly fond of his string quartets and wind instrument pieces.

5.- Almost forgot, Steinway&Sons was founded in New York by an immigrant whose family name was Steinweg. Weg means way in German, hence Stein_way_. Actually stein means stone, so he should have changed his name to Stoneway... I guess it just didn't sound right?


	11. Chapter 11: Surviving Hogwarts

**Chapter 11: Surviving Hogwarts**

September nineteenth was Hermione's birthday, and although she didn't want to impose on anyone or make it public knowledge, the moment Mrs Morewitt's owl Scriptor swooped down the Gryffindor table bearing colourful wrapped gifts and landed in front of her, everyone around put two and two together and began congratulating her. Except Harry, who seemed to be at a loss about what was happening.

"Did you win some spell-casting contest or something, Hermione?" he asked.

She refrained from rolling her eyes and set out to sort her presents while feeding Scriptor some of her breakfast. Her attention wavered away for a second when she noticed another gift-laden owl diving into the Slytherin table, although those packages were more sombre-looking in their dark-coloured paper and simple silver ribbons.

"No Harry. Today just happens to be my birthday," she answered softly, almost embarrassed of herself.

"Oh..." he said and scratched the back of his head. "Hap-- Congratulations. I'm sorry I didn't--"

"Swat dchou gat?" interrupted Ron while chewing some sausage and trying to pick one of the three wrapped items on the table with his greasy fingers.

Hermione pulled her gifts to safety in a flash and glared at the red-headed boy, before turning to Harry and telling him not to worry since she wasn't expecting any presents and hadn't told anyone about her birthday anyway.

"Still, I'd like to get you something," he said and put on a pensive face while Hermione wrote thank-you notes to her closest family and only friend. After gulping the last of his juice, he picked Blacksnout from under the table and stood up, saying "I'll meet you back in class."

"Ssscottish ratsss tassste much better than those fat lab mice they used to feed me at the zoo," hissed Blacksnout as Harry made his way to the owlery. He frowned at the idea of discussing what rats taste like with a boa, but decided to be polite even if it was something he would never eat himself.

"I'm sssure they do."

Carrying the big snake on his shoulders made for good exercise, and it also had the additional bonus of keeping others away, although it didn't seem to work against the annoying Lords of the Playground led by pale and blonde Malfoy. He had noticed them following him at a distance all the way from the Great Hall, but he wasn't concerned, believing one simple hiss from Hermione's familiar would be enough to send them scurrying like rats.

"Potter, stay where you are!"

"Do you want to help me ssscare a group of babakuarasss?" he asked Blacksnout and he could almost swear the boa smiled back.

Harry turned and faced the three boys. "What is it Malfoy?"

"I'm going to-- Merlin, Potter! There's a large s-snake on your back!" Malfoy said with an outstretched shaky finger.

The bullies took a step back when Blacksnout began slithering up and rested his head over Harry's unruly hair, flicking his tongue in and out. In fact, the larger boys actually pushed the slick blonde forward a little and cowered behind him.

"You were saying?" asked Harry, encouraging the pointy-faced boy to speak.

"M-My father will know about your preferential treatment, Potter! And if you think you're so much better than a pureblood, I'll challenge you to a--"

Hisss!

Blacksnout bared his fangs and launched himself at Malfoy, hissing and biting but purposely missing his face by a few inches, making him raise his arms in front and jump back over his goons.

"Ahhh! Keep that thing away from me!"

"Funny that," said Harry while lowering his arm to let the reptile slither back up from the ground. "An Slytherin afraid of his own mascot!"

"Ssshould I bite him for real now?" the boa asked.

"No, but pleassse tell me if they try to attack me from behind," hissed Harry as he answered the familiar's question and turned around, resuming his walk towards the owlery.

Malfoy looked astonished and, with wide eyes exclaimed "Merlin, it's true! How can a dirty-blood like you be a Parselmouth?" He stood up as fast as he could, pushing his goons away and ran away, stumbling on the hem of his robes every other step.

Harry sighed and shook his head, hoping Hermione wouldn't nag him too much for revealing his ability to those most annoying boys. A few minutes later he found himself walking under the rafters filled with owls of all sizes and colours, plus one big black raven and the Phoenix Dome his headmaster had somehow made invisible. He noticed there was a large area devoid of owls and a very subtle, ethereal golden halo indicated it was still floating where he'd last seen it; Harry briefly wondered if Fawkes was asleep inside but was startled by the sound of flapping wings to his immediate right.

Hedwig the snowy owl flapped her wings and alighted herself on her wizard's shoulder, using the left leg to push the large boa's head out of the way. It didn't sit very well with Blacksnout and he hissed at her, which prompted swift retaliation in the form of a nip that actually missed the reptile but found Harry's ear front and centre.

"Ouch! Stop it you two!"

Bird and snake began flapping and snapping over his shoulders, but the only real victim so far was Harry, who was already bleeding and gasping for air while running in circles and flailing his arms over his head, trying to either calm the animals down or shoo them away, whichever happened first.

"_Enough!_ Ssstop biting my neck," he hissed in Parseltongue, "and stop scratching my face as well!" commanded Harry in regular English.

As both familiars stopped moving, though still glaring at each other while resting on his back and shoulders, Harry pulled a kerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood. He looked at the red stains and then glared sideways at the previously bickering animals, who seemed to realize their bad behaviour and made puppy-eyes at him.

"Ruddy pets..."

Hedwig hooted softly and rubbed her white soft feathers along his cheek, while Blacksnout blamed the, in his words, "cocky white bird" for starting their row. He ignored them both and pulled parchment and a quill from his bag, scribbled a polite request and rolled the letter up, tying it to his owl's leg. He instructed her to deliver his letter and then admonished her for fighting with Hermione's familiar after scolding Blacksnout for biting him and blaming Hedwig for it.

"You'll be ssslithering your own way up the castle. And I'm telling Hermione!" he told the large boa.

Harry stomped up towards the main doors, dabbing his kerchief over his open wounds, never noticing a long-bearded wizard wearing garish robes decorated with yellow bats flying over a silver starred turquoise background observing him intently from inside the owlery.

Meanwhile in the Great Hall, a bushy-haired girl had finished both her breakfast and written replies, but decided to wait for Harry there. The need to excel and prove herself and others of how capable a witch she was kept driving Hermione to double her usual commitment to studying, which meant her impetus was overflowing and spilling onto those around her. And if they didn't really want to apply themselves to school work and rules like she did, she'd make them do so!

Hermione had trouble relating to other children, this she knew, but the successes she'd been achieving with Magic since the start of term only increased her enthusiasm, and the mysteries and adventures her Harry had dragged her into had set her desire to help him become the world's greatest wizard that he's supposed to be in all myths created around the Boy-Who-Lived.

"He's not _my_ Harry," she nagged herself for the umpteenth time that week and huffed.

Watching Harry return with a bruised and bleeding face had driven her into a bossy attitude at once, demanding that Ron went ahead to the Infirmary to warn Healer Pomfrey while instructing Neville to carry Harry's bag and scolding her friend for using a non-sterilized kerchief to wipe his wounds.

"Now, what happened to you? Did you get into a fight _again_?" she asked while cleaning him with moist hand tissues she'd fished from somewhere inside her over-stuffed rucksack.

"More like caught in the middle of one," he mumbled back and hissed when Hermione wiped too roughly over an open bite mark. "Hedwig and Blacksnout got into a row... Right on my head!"

Hermione snorted and prepared to scold him for lying, but then took a good look at his eyes. "Are you serious?"

When Harry nodded she tried really, really hard not to laugh, but if there was something she'd pick up from him these past weeks was a tiny bit of his impulsiveness, or perhaps it was always there and she just felt comfortable enough with him to let it show, and burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha, ha. Laugh it up, it's _your_ familiar that bit me right here!" he replied and pointed at his neck.

They reached the Infirmary and met Ron at the door, who asked what was so funny and was then told about the fighting familiars and Harry's unfortunate position right in between them. A moment later they entered the Hospital Wing where Harry was subjected to another earful by Madame Pomfrey while Neville, Ron and Hermione snickered behind her.

"Snake bites on your neck? Tut-tut... Owl talon scratches all over your face?! I'd advise you against any career dealing with magical creatures, unless you have a clear death wish Mr Potter."

A few wand flicks and complicated incantations later his ear was back to normal, and his skin healed. Because boas have no poison he didn't require an antidote, but Madame Pomfrey insisted on giving him an obscure foul-tasting potion anyway.

With very few minutes to spare, Hermione herded the boys towards their classroom and took her now customary seat in the front row, while Harry was dragged by Ron to sit behind her. Harry himself was lost in thought, however, and he simply allowed whoever was guiding him to steer him around.

He hadn't been able to find anything related to his vision by himself, and Harry had to admit many of the books he'd chosen to look inside for information were too complicated for him. "I must tell Hermione about the animal carved in that tree," he decided inside his mind.

As soon as they finished lessons for the day, he pulled Hermione by the hand and led her out of the Gryffindor Common Room. His first intention was to go to the music room but instead settled for a walk around the lake, where they found Blacksnout basking under the sun, coiled on top of a smooth rock.

"The stone tree has a horse carved on it, a white horse."

She looked askance at him, glad that he'd finally told her what it was he'd seen that day he came down the boy's stairs wearing nothing but a fluffy towel, which she still kept inside her trunk, but then refused to speak about it. Whenever she asked he'd just go all red in the face and splutter some nonsense, which amused her greatly although it didn't help solve the many mysteries they were faced with.

"Really, a white horse?"

"Yes..."

"Are you certain it was a white horse?" she asked again.

"Yes! A. White. Horse!"

"But that makes no sense, Harry. Why would that tree have a white horse carved on it?"

"I don't know, Hermione, but that ruddy bird--"

"Language, Harry!"

"Fine! _That phoenix_ whacked me on the head and I just plunged into the vision I've been having, and then when the fog cleared and the fire died, there was this big white horse carved over the bottom of the lake I was drowning in."

She continued to stare at him, wondering about her green-eyes' sanity. Maybe that disgusting family he'd been taken to live with had effectively addled his brain after one too many hits to the head. "Oh, and gentle Hagrid will be hearing from me soon for allowing _that_ to happen," she mumbled.

"But why would something so mundane be carved in a clearly magical thing?" she asked after a minute of silence. "I've read Fantastic Beasts and Hogwarts: A History many times over, and there's no reference to a horse ever being important or related anything magical. Maybe it was a unicorn? The only regular animals those books acknowledge are a badger, a snake, a lion and an eagle in each of the Four Founder's coats of arms. No horses at all."

"Well, your books are wrong then!"

Hermione gasped and straightened her back, eyes wide open. "Honestly! How could you say such a thing!"

Rubbing his face with both hands up and down, Harry sighed and leaned back, stretching out on the soft grass. "I know what I saw, Hermione. And when Fawkes kidnapped me to that place, it was pitch black but I saw two eyes shine at me straight from the carving, and I swear I felt some kind of animal with my fingers..."

"Perhaps Fawkes took you somewhere else? Away from Hogwarts itself?" she asked tentatively.

The question made Harry pause again and absently stroke Blacksnout's scaly back. He had forgiven Hermione's familiar as well as his own, and had settled with his friend on the banks of the Black Lake, both amused at Hedwig and Kettle's antics. The snow-white owl and the coal-black raven kept trying to out-fly each other with consecutively more daring and complicated aerobatic manoeuvres over the calm waters, from daring barrel rolls at high speed where their feathers sliced the surface of the lake to high altitude spiral dives and reverse loops that took their breath away.

Warm afternoon sun bathed them and the many other pupils talking, playing, studying and generally spending time together around the expansive shores. A few kept feeding the Giant Squid with left-overs from lunch, while a couple of young Hufflepuffs to their right pointed and marvelled at the flight show these two birds of prey were offering.

Suddenly, Harry turned to face Hermione and smiled a wicked smile. "Durmstrang!" he whispered and helped to her feet and then pulled her behind him in a sprint back into the castle.

"What is it?" she asked while being guided by the hand back to Hogwarts at a run, her dishevelled hair floating over her back.

When they arrived at the concert room, he was surprised to find a student sitting in the bench before the modern glossy black piano, performing an exercise on the keyboard while following instructions from the painted old man on the wall. She was taller than them, probably a second or third year, had long pleated chestnut hair and was wearing a cloak with the blue and bronze trim of Ravenclaw House.

Her back was turned to them and didn't acknowledge their presence until Harry coughed gently, at which she jumped and the portrait lifted a single white eyebrow, probably annoyed at his lesson being interrupted.

"Oh, hello..." the girl said and turned sideways, looking over Hermione and Harry. Her almost yellow eyes snapped up to his forehead and widened in recognition. "Wow, you're Harry Potter!"

"_How_ does everyone conclude that?" Harry whined and sat on the sofa by the bookcases.

"Age, physical characteristics and a scar that can't be magically erased," explained Hermione while glaring at the Raveclaw witch.

"Forgive my manners," said the girl, "I'm Amarillis Meadows. Pleased to meet you."

"Hermione Granger and, well, Harry Potter," Hermione replied in kind, introducing themselves.

Amarillis approached and stood before Harry. "Are you here to sign up for the new Music Club? I'd _love_ to learn to play along with you. Can you imagine? The Boy-Who-Lived and me playing the piano together!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, this fan-girl was obviously looking forward to parade herself as a friend of the Boy-Who-Lived or some other nonsense. Well, she wasn't going to use Harry for her own benefit while she stood and watched. "Harry is already an _accomplished_ musician, Ms Meadows. I don't think you _could_ actually play at his level..."

After a few seconds of mutual glaring, Amarillis snarled back. "Oh I'm not so sure, _Ms Granger_. I might even surprise him," she said and smoothed her cloak before ignoring Hermione and smiling at Harry. A moment later, Amarillis waved and called "Bye Harry!" while leaving the room.

"Urgh! What a tart..." Hermione whispered before clamping her mouth with both hands, hoping Harry hadn't heard her.

"_Hermione!_ You just cursed," exclaimed Harry, "and I know it because my uncle insults women on the street using that word!"

He pointed an accusatory finger at her and shook his head as if disappointed, but the grin in his face said otherwise. Hermione, however, looked horrified and apologetic. She tried to express how sorry she was but all that came out were a few disconnected syllables and sounds.

"I-- She-- Then-- Oh... I mean--" she continued, but then Harry started to laugh and she put both fists on her hips. "Oh honestly, Harry!"

Still laughing, he approached the portrait on the wall between bookcases and waited for the old man to acknowledge him.

"Good evening sir," Harry greeted, "this is my best friend Hermione Granger. Hermione, meet Joseph Liszt."

She nodded in greeting and then tilted her head in thought. "Liszt? As in _the_ Liszt?"

Harry smiled widely and shook his head affirmatively. "Yeah, he's Franz Liszt's wizard brother! He was a few years older and went to this other, smaller school called Durmstrang. He wrote as much revolutionary music as Franz did and now he's here to teach, isn't it great?"

"Amazing..." she replied before switching back to the mystery they had to solve. "So you think the... The place you visited is this other school?" Hermione whispered, eager to know more about it just for the sake of knowledge itself.

"That's right," Harry said and turned back to the old portrayed wizard musician. "Sir, what can you tell me about Durmstrang?"

"Ja, of course. Durmstrang rests next to the Lake of Drowned Children, under the shadow of Schädelspitz, the Mountain of Skulls, vere those who fail their grades are banished to die. The school is around six hundred years old, or it vas ven I vas a student. Only the Headmaster knows for certain..."

Harry wasn't very enthusiastic about learning more regarding Durmstrang after listening to such harsh punishment, and swallowed thickly while hoping Hogwarts was a little more understanding towards kids who failed their grades. Still, he needed to know if they had a weird tree made of stone and a white horse as a symbol for something, so he asked about the House traditions there.

"Are there different Houses for the pupils like here at Hogwarts?"

The portrait of Joseph Liszt frowned, making his large white eyebrows resemble a big furry flobberworm over his deep eyes, "Nein, I vas one of the last to be accepted from an untermensch family, and there was a special unterclass for us. Now it is different, only the strongest, purest of magical heirs can enter the Frozen Halls."

"Harry? I sincerely hope he-who-has-fiery-feathers _didn't_ actually bring you to this Durmstrang school," Hermione whispered in his ear.

He nodded firmly in agreement and decided to do what he did best: being blunt and to the point. "Is there some sort of stone tree or white horses at your school, sir?"

Hermione slapped her forehead and sat dejectedly on the piano bench, fuming at her friend's lack of subtlety. She was surprised, however, when the painting began to bob his head up and down while looking up, as if remembering something.

"There is a mythical tree called the Eistodsbaum, from vere it is said one can gather the seeds of death. It vas a popular tale among Durmstrang alumni, and some vould venture out into the mountains to look for it, never to return!" Joseph finished saying with a creepy smirk in his face.

"Right... Er... About the horses?"

"Vat? Oh, nein, there is nothing but flesh-hungry wolves and wild thestrals around Durmstrang. There vas a Yeti once, however, if it is any consolation."

Harry and Hermione left the Concert Room more confused than they had been before, and by unspoken agreement walked to the library to search for any reference to this Eistodsbaum, while shivering at the mere thought of being unfortunate enough to have received a letter of acceptance to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. At least here they had better odds of survival.

* * *

Falling into a sort of routine hadn't been hard for Harry or Hermione. Despite the young boy's oppressive upbringing he didn't really mind being fastened to repetitive schedules, and although the young girl longed for the freedom her life in the attic of her home provided, she welcomed the steadiness. Not to mention both enjoyed each other's company, most of the time at least.

Six o'clock in the morning was the hour they eventually settled to meet on the roof of Gryffindor Tower from Monday to Thursday, since they had Astronomy at night that day of the week and neither wanted to rise earlier than eight on weekends. The first weeks they did this were filled with excitement and chatter, because of the novelty and their mutual complicity. However, Hermione still managed to upset Harry in this particular Sunday morning because of her everlasting nagging abilities.

After almost a month of classes he was falling behind in the all-important basic skills of Charms and Transfiguration, and being unused to people being kind or trying to help him at once, Harry was quite frankly at a loss as to whom he should pay attention to. Ron insisted he'd seen his brothers do some wand movements one way and never cared to read the explanation contained within their textbooks, while Neville insisted Harry was powerful enough to simply flick a wand and be done with it.

Hermione instead had hinted that what he needed to do was to apply himself more to reading and practising beyond their lessons. And she had reminded him of it again every day for lunch. And again before every dinner. And again all evenings before going to bed. When she lifted the trapdoor on the roof and nagged him again today, Harry snapped.

"_For heavens' sake Hermione!_ I get it, I'm _stupid_ and I've gotta read more, but I'm just not like _you_!" he yelled and pushed her aside intending to jump back into the tower.

Her eyes began to water and she began to mentally kick herself for pushing him too hard, but when her friend pulled the trapdoor to leave, Hermione huffed, slammed it back to a closed position and planted her foot over it, much to Harry's annoyance.

"You are _not_ stupid, I've never said you were! All I'm saying is that you must study harder!" she told him and pulled him to face her when he turned his back. "I'm your friend, Harry... I only want to help you!"

"It ain't helping! I guess I'm just not magical enough..." he replied and sat heavily on the shingled roof, looking down at his crossed arms.

"Don't be silly..." she said and placed an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry for nagging, but you're _worth_ the effort, Harry! I _want_ to help you but if you rather speak with Professor McGonagall--"

"No! No, she'll just give me more homework. I'm sorry for snapping back at you, I'll... I'll be at the piano room," he explained and stood up to leave.

Hermione watched him disappear and crossed her arms, recriminating herself for annoying her friend and absently watching the clouded skies. Her familiar Kettle brought her a shiny pebble from the lake and perched himself on her shoulder a few minutes later, and she was absently stroking his feathers when she tilted her head up to face the large raven. "You're not an owl," she told him and the raven cawed shortly in a very "duh" sort of way, "and yet you _can_ perform similar duties and more... Perhaps Harry is just different from everyone else then?"

She went to her room to pick her rucksack and then walked down to the Great Hall, where she carefully selected the flattest of toasts, the most narrow bacon strips and only eggs whose yoke was evenly centred, as well as some thoroughly fried sausages, wrinkling her nose at everything else she deemed sub-standard for Harry's consumption.

For herself, a pair of shapely pears, grapes not smaller than three-quarters of an inch and unblemished bananas made up the ingredients of a fruit salad. Taking her time to peel and dice everything into perfect squares, she doused her bowl of mixed fresh fruit with pumpkin juice and walked away from the Gryffindor table, while several of her house-mates looked on with curious expressions on their faces.

Silently walking into the Concert Room while balancing the plate loaded with Harry's selected breakfast in one hand and her own bowl in the other, Hermione waved the food under Harry's nose and sat next to him on the bench, pushing him sideways with her hip.

"Eat, and listen," she commanded, ignoring his annoyed look. He did as he was told over loud protests from Joseph the painted music instructor, who was chastising Hermione for the interruption. She ignored the portrait, opened her rucksack and extracted a book, flipping to the page she wanted. "Thus the ideal mindset can only aid the caster when unequivocally repeating the aforementioned kinetics," she quoted out loud from their Charms textbook, "But that's _not_ how you do it, is it Harry?"

He remained silent and chewed on his sausage, brow furrowed and a scowl on his face.

"I've seen you struggling to make the right motions because they don't feel right, do they?" she insisted, "And you don't understand the actual meaning of those words I just read either, am I correct?"

Harry let his face drop and gave a tiny shake, confirming her suspicions. She didn't blame him, nor thought less of him for it, but oh, how she loathed those despicable relatives of his for belittling him. "It means that no matter how much Professor Flitwick insists on repeating motions and then clearly reciting an incantation with the right intent, if it doesn't feel right for you, it will _not_ work correctly!"

"But how--"

"We'll make a deal, Harry. I read it to you," she said while picking up The Standard Book of Spells and showing him the cover, "and you tell me if you understand. If not, I'll explain, we'll search for the wand motions that _feel_ right and we'll go from there." Hermione pleaded him to let her help him with her eyes, and Harry swallowed dry.

"You... You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, Harry. That's what friends are for. And, well, it's my way of apologizing for being such a nasty nagging nightmare..."

"But I--"

"Oh, and I promise I'll let _you_ decide when and where you want to study with me," she added, reassuring him that she wouldn't start pestering him again.

"I'd like your help now... If it's alright with you?" he said softly, fidgeting on his side of the bench.

They spent the following hours reviewing and trying all their previous week's spellwork, at the end of which Harry was tired and hungry, but extremely grateful. He had been ashamed for not really understanding much of the textbooks; not only were they written in complicated fashion, he also felt the need for a dictionary to clarify most of the words!

Hermione wasn't easily deterred, however, and she had patiently paused to explain and search for easier words every time, without recriminating him or showing him pity for his lack of language comprehension skills. Also, her theory that Harry had a singular way of relating to magic had been given credit, because after executing perfect textbook casting, some spells had better results with the adjustments Harry would make to "feel right" instead of fighting against the magic itself.

What surprised them both, however, was that when Hermione stood side-by-side with Harry and both began transfiguring buttons into coins together, not only did they end up creating remarkable pure crystal, light-splitting, engraved mintage, but also eliciting a mesmerizing show of light and sound out of nowhere.

The assignment was meant to transfigure false Sickles or Knuts, perhaps the odd fake golden Galleon if they had enough precision and talent. Such coins were, like all transfigurations, impermanent and easily detectable because of their irregular size, absence of the Gringotts serial number around the rim and lacking the inscriptions in Gobbledegook. The crystal coins they ended up with were the same diameter as an original Sickle, with an engraved Gryffindor crest on one side and the words Draco Dormiens Numquam Titillandus inscribed on the other, surrounding an engraving of Hogwarts Castle.

"Harry! What did you do?"

"_Me?!_"

"Yes, you! You turned my sample buttons into... Into beautiful leaded crystal coins!"

"No I didn't," he replied hesitantly. "Did I?"

Hermione huffed and then looked thoughtful. "And what _was_ that sound and where did those colours come from?"

"Let's do it again!" Harry said and picked more buttons from the small bag they had been given for Transfiguration, spreading them over the polished cover of the grand piano. They timed their casting motions and began transfiguring in tandem, and as the simple enamelled buttons began flattening and becoming transparent, a two-note tone filled the room and wavering beams of multicoloured light hit the ceiling.

"Cricket! I'm beaming," Hermione exclaimed and began patting the crown of her head, trying to find out where the light had come from.

"It came from your right pocket," pointed Harry, who had an amused grin on his lips.

"My puzzle!"

Without speaking, they turned and began casting levitating charms together on their sparkling crystal coins. A different tone began to fill the room and rays of light tinged the ceiling in pale blue instead of the golden and green beams from before, and after pulling the silver puzzle from her pocket, Harry and Hermione sat on the floor wondering what had just happened.

"It reacts to magic, but why hasn't it started shining and humming before?"

"Dunno... You're the smart one, Hermione. Maybe because it's Sunday?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to face Harry. "_You_ are as smart as I am, no matter how much your relatives told you otherwise. Harry listen to me, it's what you feel in here that's really important," she said while poking his heart. "What good is an extraordinarily intelligent person without love to guide his or her actions?"

Rubbing the spot on his chest where his friend had poked him, Harry began to ponder her words. Did she really believe in him so much? Yes, he concluded. "That's why she keeps helping me and that's why she promised to be my friend; that's why she's my guardian angel," he thought while Hermione inspected her silver trinket, touching it with the tip of her wand, sniffing it deeply and then shaking it close to one of her ears, trying to hear more sounds.

Thinking about her words and her trust in him led him to realize that he hadn't been listening to his heart, to that feeling in his guts that tells him what is right and what is wrong. It felt right to listen to Hermione and try to study harder, but there was always this little nasty voice very similar to his aunt's saying "You're a worthless freak!" inside, no matter how much he tried to ignore it and pretend it wasn't there. Part of him knew he would never amount to anything in life.

After being on the receiving end of it for so long, Harry had decided that hurting people who have done no harm is wrong, and yet that is _exactly_ what he had done to Hermione this morning. He had hurt her with his words; not with fists and feet as he was used to get hurt in his former school, but with his careless shouting. He wondered why he couldn't control himself better like the other boys he met at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry Hermione, please forgive me again?"

"Forgive you for what?"

"For being an idiot... For yelling at you earlier on the roof."

"Oh Harry, it's alright..."

No, he didn't believe it was alright, and that led to another revelation in this amazing Sunday morning: that he had failed to be as good a friend to Hermione as she was to him. Here was the girl who had unknowingly gifted him the magic of music and was now helping him to learn real magic, and yet he was mistreating her. She was much, much more than a friend, and although he had defended her against bullies like Malfoy and Professor Snape, he hadn't defended her from himself.

It saddened Harry to realize he was capable of hurting Hermione, and he swore he would never hurt her or let anyone else harm her. That vow, however, made him understand that Ron too had been mistreating his friend. He didn't want to have to choose between them, but doing what is right took courage, the courage to risk that very friendship by telling Ron that making fun of her gratuitously was wrong and unacceptable.

"Harry, wake up!"

"Huh?"

"I've been waving and snapping my fingers in front of you for a while now. Are you feeling well?"

"Er... No, not really..."

"Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"

Harry shook his head to mean it wasn't necessary. "No, I've got all I need right here," he said and stood up, sat on the piano bench, lifted the lid over the keys and pat the bench for Hermione to join him.

With a swift pass, he played two complete octaves up and down with his left hand before cracking his fingers and pressing the first notes to Beethoven's chorus from his famous Ninth Symphony.

"I know this melody!" Hermione exclaimed, "It's Beethoven, isn't it? Yes it is! I love to hear the Ode to Joy when my grandpa Greg plays it at home for Easter. Of course I don't really celebrate it out of religious duty but rather tradition I guess, but it's still a day to share love with family... Or to celebrate what a family should be, though I've never had... I've never _really_ had a true family celebration, you see..."

Still playing, Harry turned his face to smile at his friend and told her that perhaps next Easter would be better for her. "It's going to be the best Easter ever this year for you then. You've said your uncle hugged and accepted you for the first time ever last month, right? And that he said he's sorry?"

Nodding while he continued to play, she tried to mask wiping a tear on her eye by pulling hair out her face, before joining him with an off-key humming of her own, performing a barely recognizable version of the chorus. Harry winced at her horrible humming but decided not to comment on it.

"So now I'll say it again. I'm sorry for yelling... I guess it's the only way I've learned to speak with people, 'cause that's what my relatives do at their house." He saw Hermione about to interrupt but he continued to speak, "And now I know it hurts, and that it isn't the right way to treat a friend... I won't let anyone do it to you too."

Hermione launched herself at him and hugged him tightly, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He wheezed and tried to wriggle a little, only to have her tighten her grip. Wondering if she'd been observing Blacksnout coiling around mice too much lately, he managed to pull one arm out of the embrace and reach for the silver puzzle they still had to understand, dangling it in front of her eyes.

"Air! Breathe... Can't!"

"Honestly, it's not like I'm some sort of constricting boa, Harry. It's just a hug! Now what say you we eat lunch and then find out how this thing works?" she asked and snatched the trinket from his hand.

* * *

Harry found that balancing music and Quidditch was easier said than done, because although he enjoyed the feeling of flying and reluctantly accepted the fact that he might have a talent for it, being harangued every single morning by a fanatical Team Captain about every aspect of the wizard sport was really getting to his nerves.

Nothing was ever going to replace the feeling of freedom he had achieved by taking an interest in music and piano playing. That being said, nothing was more magical than soaring the skies on a broomstick! However Harry still remembered the words Headmaster Dumbledore spoke the day Mrs McGonagall showed him the music room, "greatest magicks of old" he'd said and then left with a twinkle in his eyes.

It was the week of the first Quidditch game featuring Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, the pairing spewed out by the magical lottery balls at the beginning of the year. Unlike several other changes Headmaster Dumbledore had introduced within the past ten years, the increased number of fixtures played in a double round-robin tournament was actually praised by both adults and youngsters alike. After all, the more Quidditch, the merrier most witches and wizards were!

"Did you understand the Snidget Southern Sweep move, Harry? I'll repeat it again, what you've gotta do is..." Oliver Wood continued droning on his left ear while Hermione, who was carefully choosing breakfast for him on his right, rolled her eyes at the older Gryffindor.

Hermione herself had also been juggling many activities, desires and tasks. She had added Harry's tutoring to her regular study plans, allocated time to research Flamel and Fluffy's connection to Hogwarts and its headmaster, looked for mythical references to fossilized trees and wizarding myths having to do with horses, and last but not least, began rebuilding her friend's lost or withheld knowledge of his very own family.

"Plus I have to find a way to bypass the Muggletum Manufactorum Maledictum regulation," she mused in a whisper while Oliver continued channelling Professor Binns and lecturing Harry on all things Quidditch. The legislative clause had been pointed out by her friend Mrs Morewitt, who had held on and eventually returned a package containing Lavender Brown's request from their first week of term in her bookshop because of the object's Muggle provenance.

"...so when the opposing Seeker is turning around, you dive sharply and..."

The problem was that any and all Muggle-made items had to be approved by the Ministry before they entered the magical world, however ordinary an object. There were exceptions for witches and wizards who needed to acquire such things immediately by virtue of their occupation, such as Aurors or diplomatic officials when in contact with Muggles, but they were expected to either discard or submit those purchases to Ministry evaluation. Hermione was underage and, because of her descent, had no magical guardian able to petition any Ministry for Magic departments on her behalf. Or did she?

That tangential question led her back to Harry's situation. He had been missing for a decade before receiving his Hogwarts letter, so what was his legal situation in the magical world? Was he emancipated? Did such a thing even exist among witches and wizards?

With the help of the W.E.A.K. book and Harry's photo album, they had been able to piece together a sketchy recent family history and a rough timeline of the Potters' gradual disappearance. Oddly enough, his paternal grandparents had been attacked and murdered the same week Hermione's mother and father died in a faulty engineering accident but she survived because of her magic, or perhaps by the unsatisfactory actions of some unknown witch or wizard who could have saved them all.

"...Seekers don't mind a few bruises here and there, so you're required to break all your bones hunting for the Snitch..."

The incessant Quidditch talk continued after she handed her friend a full plate and carried on with her own breakfast. Quietly snickering at Harry's predicament, she watched him tighten his jaw and wondered how much longer he could take before snapping at Oliver. Truth was, she was proud of him for holding his temper in check for as long as he has.

Back to her earlier problem regarding inter-cultural trade, Hermione had asked Lavender and she had explained that her Muggle style clothes were actually purchased in wizard shops, or personally acquired in the Muggle world by mixed, adult family friends who could easily ask their magical relations to produce the parchmentwork required. There were, however, no provisions for mail order and delivery of non-magical goods.

Fingering the magically expanded red and gold silk pouch Harry had given her as a late birthday gift, she pondered on the Muggletum Law and what little her older witch friend had explained. A sock was a sock, and once the Ministry approved one's Muggle-made sock, one could purchase as many socks as one wished, but if one were to _charm_ a sock, then the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department came into play.

Out of the frying pan into the fire; this whole situation was frustrating her deeply.

Hermione was aware that human societies big and small depended upon rules to function. In some there's enough leeway to allow for an amount of transgression, while others had established clear mechanisms for evolution and change from within. A few, however, were set in stone and resisted any and all manners of dissent or will to change. She only hoped Magical Britain wasn't so attached to the latter as it seemed to be.

That being said, she also believed that sometimes rules must be bent in the quest for righteousness. Saving abused exotic animals came to mind and brought a smile to her face, which Harry picked up immediately.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked after downing the last of his pumpkin juice.

"Oh, just reminiscing... That means remembering and contemplating something from my past, Harry."

He nodded and ignored Oliver's hand on his shoulder trying to get his attention, focusing instead on the by now familiar feeling of being watched. Surely enough, he looked around and found a pair of blue eyes peering over half-moon spectacles, accompanied by a pair of intimidating eyes looking through rectangular rimmed lenses.

His Headmaster and Head of House both kept their gazes fixed on his every move from their seats on the Staff Table, and although it wasn't strange for the highest authorities of a school to keep an eye on their pupils, the fact that Harry was the only one under such intense scrutiny had him worried. "What did I do now?" he asked inside his mind, reviewing the past few days. He'd been to every class on time, used some free time outside the castle but never walked into the Forbidden Forest or jumped into the Black Lake, and thanks to Hermione's help was up to par with everyone else in his schoolwork.

"...when two Bludgers are coming from behind you, the best move is to duck and let 'em hit you so they bounce away..."

Harry was no closer to solving any of the mysteries his life had fallen into; the phoenix hadn't come to kidnap him again nor had he been able to convince Neville, Ron and Hermione to visit Fluffy and try to take a look below the trapdoor. His dreams about drowning in the lake and crazy people shouting nonsense at him continued, sometimes the screams and blinding green lightning made him toss and turn but whenever his dreams became too intense and painful, there was always Hermione's image behind thick glass to comfort him.

A new feeling made him turn left and he saw Professor Snape's pale face trailed by billowing robes, a permanent sneer on his lips as usual while he scanned the tables and settled on him for a second. The Potions Master was never late for meals, and the inconsistency rattled Harry's mind pushing him into a higher state of alertness.

"Harry! Look at his arm!" whispered Hermione.

Surely enough, his left arm hung listlessly on the side, swinging freely but uncontrolled, unlike his right arm that had the normal balancing motion of a walking human. Harry was about to comment when the strong smell of garlic reached his nostrils, accompanied by the stuttering voice of Professor Quirrell.

"Th-th-there must b-be an exp-planation! Fiendfyre doesn't s-s-s-spring out of nnn-- Out of nowhere!"

"Quiet, you babbling idiot! Do you wish to scare half of the school away?" whispered Snape while pulling the clumsy D.A.D.A. teacher towards the opposite end of the Great Hall and scanning the tables, resting his dark irises on his least favourite pupil, young Harry Potter.

As the two wizards walked away, the Potions Professor kept looking straight back over his shoulder at Harry and he felt a head-splitting pain in his forehead, the same he'd been experiencing randomly over the course of these first three weeks of school. Now it didn't seem to be so random any longer.

"Ouch, my head..." he whined and cradled it on his hands, trying to sooth the boiling grey mass.

"Am I wrong or does Professor Snape have something to do with these... Episodes you experience?" asked Hermione while draping an instant cold pack over him.

He nodded slowly and then glanced up at his friend, wondering how in heaven's name did she come up with this kind of opportune items. It was as if her rucksack was actually magical or something! Harry saw her shrug and loftily comment "I like to be prepared for everything" before closing his eyes again, feeling much better now that the quasi-vampire had taken his seat next to Professor Sinistra.

"Yeah, sometimes Snape looks at me like, I dunno, like searching inside my brain? But Dumbledore and even McGonagall do that too... All I know is that I'm in for lots of headaches later on today and tomorrow..."

"Hmmm... Interesting," said Hermione, tilting her head in thought. "Do you... Do you have any visions or images along with those headaches?"

Harry kept his forehead pressed against the soothing cold and tried to remember. He recalled images and sounds from his nightmares, but they _felt_ different from the ones he had after Fawkes whacked him unconscious. The pain he felt now was very similar to the pain he felt after the screams and the bright green light in his troubled sleep. "No, no visions but... Let's talk about it tomorrow morning," he whispered, knowing she would understand they could talk more freely on top of the Gryffindor tower.

"Merlin, Potter! You better get used to some silly headache if you want to even think of surviving tomorrow's game, you hear me?" Oliver said and then launched into a tirade of gruesome accidents involving Seekers, while Ron kept staring at him adoringly and Neville snickered at Harry and Hermione's horrified faces.

A less than attentive Hermione went to class that morning, fighting an urge to sprint into the library and research what a "fiend's fire" could be and how it could have caused Professor Snape's apparent injury. Not that she'd ever pay much attention to Divination, which she quickly discovered was one of the magical arts where one could only apply method to a degree, while the rest was innate magic. That, and her belief that Professor Trelawney was deceiving students on purpose by using logic or simple guessing to convince them of her gift.

"Pssst! Hermione!"

"What?" she whispered sideways at Harry.

"Check this out," he said and began twirling his wand over the crystal ball on the table.

"Harry put that away, you'll get us in trouble!"

"Don't worry Hermione, the teacher's too busy fawning over Lavender's tealeaves," he explained and concentrated. A dimple formed on top of the ball and began to grow, then became deeper and deeper until only a thin wall of round crystal with a circular hole on top remained. "Aguamenti," incanted Harry and water began to trickle softly from his wand, filling the bowl with water.

"And now for the final touch," he said and pulled a goblet from his pocket, tipping and tapping it with his wand, dropping a pair of rainbow-coloured fish inside."Ta-daaa!"

Hermione tried hard to keep a stern face, but her friend was so happy doing his little magic trick that she couldn't bring herself to do anything but applaud softly and smile. "Wait, how did you manage to conjure live fish, Harry?"

"I didn't, Hedwig caught them for me yesterday and I asked Percy to cast a non-spilling charm on the goblet that would only end with a tap of my wand. Cool, isn't it? Now I can say for sure that my future looks fishy..."

* * *

Saturday morning of the first Quidditch match of the year found Harry sitting on the roof of the tower, with his back propped against a pair of velvet cushions and his legs tucked under a comforter, watching the sunrise. His nerves were on edge, he didn't want to suffer any of the terrible injuries his Team Captain Oliver insisted he should suffer in the quest for the Snitch, but at the same time wanted to experience the wizard sport fully.

The trapdoor swung upwards and Hermione climbed from it, stretching and greeting him, "Morning, Harry."

"Hullo Hermione," he said and scooted to the side, allowing his friend to snuggle against him and pull the comforter over herself. "I thought about what you asked, and no, there's no visions when Snape looks at me like that, but the pain is the same as in my nightmares."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. He's a very unpleasant man and is so far unworthy of any personal consideration, but his title is that of a professor and that courtesy makes us better than him," Hermione replied, snaking her arms around him. She had been starved of human touch growing up, and she was going to hug the stuffing out of Harry as much as she could.

"You gonna let me go on with my tale or what?"

"Anyway," she continued, ignoring his outburst, "you say the headache is the same in your dreams as in real life?"

Grumbling and pulling the comforter back over himself since it was a chilly morning, he nodded affirmatively and told her how the green flash of light always split his forehead open in pain. "Funny thing is, I sort of remember being on my back, and a scream... A scream and... Oh!"

"What? What is it, Harry?"

Harry stood straighter up and propped himself on his elbows, careful not to push Hermione down the roof of the tower. "Who came to my parents' home to kill all my family?"

"According to the Ministry and several books about you, it was Voldemort... Why?"

"And you said it was Snape who suspected I was evil, right?"

"Yeees... But what's that got to do with your bouts of pain?"

"Don't you _see_? Snape must _be_ Voldemort then! He's trying to kill me again!"

Snorting and burying her face in Harry's belly, Hermione laughed and then looked up at her friend's miffed face. "Oh, Harry, you said it yourself. Voldemort is either dead or gone for good... You survived, he didn't, and that's the end of it."

"But--"

"And even if Professor Snape was trying to kill you, I don't believe he would do it by giving you headaches," she explained. "He would go into your room and smother you with a pillow!"

Harry looked down at her horrified; killed in his sleep? How was he supposed to sleep at night from now on? It seemed as if his panic had been reflected on his face, because Hermione stood up, wrapped the comforter around him and pushed his eyeglasses up his nose.

"Don't worry Harry, I'm only teasing you. Besides, you have a Quidditch game to survive first," she said and Harry actually trembled. "I'm going to hunt for a couple of promising tomes in the library and I'll be there to watch you fly."

"Oh... All right, I guess..." he said looking down at his hands.

She took his right hand into hers and smiled before saying "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Harry. When you ride that broom today, do it because you enjoy it, because playing Quidditch makes _you_ happy like playing on the piano does."

With those words, she waved at him and jumped into the tower, leaving a considerably calmer youngest starting Seeker in a century alone to enjoy the morning breeze.

The game was scheduled for eleven o'clock, he had enough time to scrape some breakfast and see if his stomach manages to hold the food in, and more importantly he had time to play music and continue the small divertimento he had been writing.

Harry saw Hermione's raven diving towards the library out of the corner of his eyes and wondered if Blacksnout was also headed that way or if the reptile gossip-monger was already at his favourite rock outcrop by the lake instead. "I could ask the snake to keep an eye on Snape for me," he thought, taking a deep breath and standing up to go into the castle, pick up some breakfast and visit the Concert Room.

The portrait of Mr Liszt frowned at him because he put a plate of food on the instrument, complaining about sticky fingers and inappropriate behaviour, but Harry ignored him for the most part. He played to his heart's content and weathered much constructive criticism from the painted instructor, then fell into a world where only the instrument and Harry existed, until coming back to Hogwarts when the keyboard cover closed by itself, smashing his hands with the heavy wood.

"Ahhh! What the hell?!" hissed Harry, nursing his battered hands and clenching his teeth to fight the pain.

"Did you think you could trick me, stupid half-blood?" someone asked from behind him. Harry looked around and found the Lords of the Playground glaring menacingly at him.

His hands hurt and he couldn't move his fingers, they started to swollen immediately and turned a nasty red colour, almost like a boxing glove. The bullies advanced on him and he tried to pick his wand, but it fell to the floor in a clatter because he wasn't able to hold on to it at all.

"Where's your ugly mudblood freak, Potter? Did you trick her into believing you're a Parselmouth too?" drawled Malfoy while his bodyguards snickered and poked him. "My father and Professor Snape said you're so full of yourself that you have to trick people into believing you're more than just a squib!"

"She's not a freak!" Harry replied, shaking his hands to reduce the pain. "And I'm no squib, Malfoy!"

The Slytherins laughed and Malfoy took a step forward. "You can't even hold a wand, that makes you a squib. By the way, does one have to be horribly disfigured to get into Gryffindor? I mean, scarface Potter and Granger the scarred ugly beaver are prime examples!"

"Go to hell!"

"Uhhh... I'm so scared Potter, do you want to hex me? Oh, I'm sorry, you can't!" Malfoy said and laughed along with the other two.

Harry was sure his left hand was broken, and one finger in his right was bent at an odd angle, probably broken as well. He had never been able to fight back at school or at home, but he had seen other kids fighting. If you have no hands, use your legs.

Pulling his right foot back, he kicked as hard as he could in between Malfoy's legs, aiming for his crotch. Unfortunately for Harry, the boy was a wizard dressed as a wizard, and the robes took the brunt of the force instead.

"That's it. Goyle, Crabbe, get him!" said Malfoy and the bullies launched themselves after Harry.

This situation was more familiar to young Harry, and he knew exactly how evade and escape big bullies. He dodged left, then ran behind the piano faking to the right, which pulled Crabbe and Goyle in one direction while Harry spun and ran to the other. Malfoy stood by the door with his wand held high and directing his housemates to catch Potter and show him who rules this school.

"Last I heard, we were all equal students and Headmaster Dumbledore enforced the rules," a feminine voice came from the doorway.

Malfoy jumped on the air and didn't move a muscle when the tip of a wand was pressed against the back of his head. He couldn't see who it was but the voice was too young to be that of a professor, so it had to be a student.

Meanwhile, Harry continued to run away from Crabbe and Goyle, going around the large instruments and then dodging hexes between the rows of chairs placed for the audience. His hands hurt terribly, he was actually having trouble keeping the tears of pain away, but he found that stuffing them inside his pockets to keep the movement to a minimum actually helped.

"Stop running so I can hex you Potter!" yelled Crabbe.

"Tell them to stop, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed and pressed her wand at him harder.

"Well look at this, it's the mangled beaver!" Malfoy said after turning his face to see her. "You don't even deserve to carry a wand, filthy mudblood!"

Hermione remained silent while the sounds of spells and tumbled chairs continued inside the Concert Room, she was about to enter the fray when she heard Harry yelping in pain but was stopped by a brisk commanding voice that made her cringe.

"Lower your wand now, Miss Granger."

"Headmaster, she's tried to hex me, I want her expelled!" Malfoy said.

Headmaster Dumbledore peeked inside the room over Hermione and Malfoy's heads and watched for a few seconds how a very agile Harry kept dodging spells, but then frowned and pointed his wand at his throat.

"Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, cease your attack on Mr Potter now!"

His voiced had somehow increased in volume a hundredfold and the very walls shook, making the bullies drop their wands and Harry slide against the wall. Hermione took the chance to run into the room and kneel next to him, carefully taking one of his purpled hands in hers.

"What happened, Harry?"

"It hurts so much... Ahhh! T-they closed the keyboard cover over my hands a-and then started to insult you, and--"

"Mr Potter, I'm disappointed of you. You seem to believe fighting will solve your problems, clearly this is something your mother's sister would be ashamed to know," the headmaster interrupted, looking over his half-moon spectacles at him.

"Yeah right, like she'd care about me," Harry whispered.

Drawing a large breath and steadying herself, Hermione stood and looked up at the old wizard, "I'm sorry Headmaster Dumbledore, but you have absolutely no idea what you speak of. Can we go to the infirmary now?"

Unfortunately, the Slytherin Head of House had chosen that moment to swoop into the room and heard her reply. Behind him, Malfoy kept demanding that Hermione and Harry be expelled while Professor Snape looked down at them and said "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Granger. Another ten for threatening Mr Malfoy at wandpoint, and ten more from Potter for engaging in a fight like a common Muggle, as well as detention with me for ten days!"

Harry winced but managed to stand up next to his friend. He found it odd that the Potions Professor was so angry and yet he felt no pain in his forehead as he thought he should, but dismissed the idea and tried to defend himself as well as Hermione.

"They hurt me first! And my friend was trying to protect me, that's no--"

"Be quiet boy! Mr Malfoy, please present your wand for inspection," ordered Snape with a sneer.

The headmaster waved his own wand and muttered something that provoked several puffs of smoke to come from the tip of Malfoy's wand. "Alas, the latest spells cast with this wand are a single levitation charm and several transfiguration attempts. Homework I presume?" Dumbledore explained and sighed. "Mr Malfoy has cast no harmful spells at all my dear boy."

"Then he did it _without_ magic! Look at my hands!"

Hermione winced at her friend's tone, she knew he was losing his patience and would soon do something worthy of being expelled in front of the headmaster, of all people. But what could she do to stop him? Nagging him was her first instinct, but after the near-row they had before she changed tactics and learnt how to help Harry without being a nightmare, she always tried to think beyond her own particular point of view first.

Helping her friend in a different way had also proved her suspicion that Harry had a very particular way of relating to magic, and that in turn had allowed Hermione herself to make slight adjustments to her own unique way of casting and using magic with a wand, although Harry's was far more unconventional than hers.

She leaned slightly against her friend and whispered "Do you trust me, Harry?"

"Of course I do," he muttered back, still angry at the look of disappointment in the headmaster's face, as if _he_ were the bully.

"Then follow my lead," she whispered back before looking up at the two adult wizards. "This situation was my fault, I apologize for my poor behaviour and accept your punishment."

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape then focused on Harry, but he remained silent. Hermione looked sideways at Harry and elbowed him, indicating the wizards with a movement of her head.

"Oh, yeah... I apologize too. Can I go see Madame Pomfrey?"

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore agreed and let them leave, telling Snape to gather his students and lead them to the Quidditch pitch to enjoy the first match of the season. Harry kept walking behind his friend and having trouble understanding the headmaster. He looked like a nice batty old man at first sight, then he tried to keep him away from his friends, later on he apologized for it and seemed to be a kind man again, and now he was disappointed of Harry when he was the real victim!

And speaking of that, why would he talk about Aunt Petunia? If Dumbledore was trying to shame him he had better find someone else, his aunt couldn't care less what he did or didn't do. He also wondered why Hermione had taken the blame and asked him to do the same; by now Gryffindor was probably back in negative numbers because of it.

"Come Harry, I think your hands are broken," she said and wiped her eyes before opening the Infirmary doors for him.

Always alert, the Hogwarts Healer stepped from her office and led Harry to a bed, tutting about careless children and their urge to harm themselves. She diagnosed his injuries with her wand and asked how he had broken both hands, but Harry refused to speak of it when Hermione shook her head negatively at him.

"You do understand Healer-Healed confidence, do you not Mr Potter?" asked Madame Pomfrey.

"I think so, ma'am, but it's just something I really don't want to talk about. Can it be fixed now before my game? I'm the starting Seeker, but it hurts too much..."

"That blasted game! Oh very well, Mr Potter, I will mend your bones and you must apply this salve to reduce the swelling every four hours. I trust Miss Granger can do that for you?"

Hermione smiled broadly and Harry groaned, knowing she was going to be watching over him like a hawk to pour the disgusting slime Healer Pomfrey gave her all over his hands. With a series of motions the healer began mending bones and tendons, the feeling was making him shiver and the skin was still bloated and purple but he could feel and move his fingers now.

By the time the healing was finished, Harry had little over five minutes to be down at the Quidditch pitch and ran after Hermione, who told him she knew the fastest route to the main doors. His hands hurt a bit but nothing like the pain he had experienced early, and he was sure flying wouldn't be a problem. Probably. At least he hoped so.

The teams were already assembled by the centre of the pitch and Captain Wood was looking for a last second replacement for his spot on the Gryffindor Team when he saw Harry running down from the castle. Hermione wished him a good game and walked to the stands while Harry rushed into the changing room and stepped out dressed in a much too large uniform carrying a school broom, hoping he had picked the best available, or at least one that wouldn't fail in mid-air.

"Sorry, I got attacked by Malfoy and his friends..." Harry panted and explained.

"I want to see you chasing the Snitch on that broom until your last breath, Potter!" replied Wood, who was shaking the Hufflepuff captain's hand.

Wincing at the idea that he should "get the Snitch or die", as his captain constantly repeated, Harry called the broom up and held it to one hand, ready to straddle it as soon as the Bludgers, Quaffle and the golden winged ball he had to chase were released. Madame Hooch the flying instructor blew on a magically enhanced whistle and the match started with a mad rush for the red Quaffle and an ear-splitting roar from the cheering students on the stands.

He pushed the broom up and yelped at the pain in his hands, the effort of manoeuvring the broom hurting his recently mended bones and tendons. Levelling at a hundred feet high, he sighed in relief and shook his arms while looking around him carefully. He saw no sign of the Snitch and glanced down to the Gryffindor stands where he noticed Hermione looking up from her seat next to Hagrid.

Despite being well-known as The-Boy-Who-Lived and selected for the Quidditch Team as the youngest Seeker in a century, Harry's string of point deductions had more than a few of his housemates giving him the evil eye, although after the Weasley twins had pranked some of the more vocal complainers his friends and him were mostly left alone. In order to improve their standing he wanted to do his best and secure a victory for Gryffindor in this first match and, at the same time, enjoy the experience.

Down in the stands, Hermione kept asking questions to Hagrid about the game. What's the maximum height the players can climb? How far apart must the golden hoops be apart from each other? How much force can a Beater put on a Bludger? What's the average speed of the Snitch?

She would barely wait for Hagrid to sputter his answers and put forward another question. "Which strategy is best, ending the game quickly or scoring more goals?"

"Hmmm... I mean..."

"What's Harry doing with his broom up there?"

"Hmmm? That's strange, it don't look like any Quidditch moves I know," Hagrid replied while shielding his eyes with one hand.

Hermione chided herself for not thinking ahead packing a pair of binoculars in her trunk and tried to focus on her friend's manoeuvres high above the pitch. He made a tight circle overhead but continued to jump up and down, as if riding a bull in a rodeo, and she wondered if that was some fancy way of catching that winged gold ball.

"Hagrid, is that normal?" she asked with more concern in her voice.

"I'd reckon it ain't," he answered in a gruff voice laden with his own measure of concern.

She thought of asking Ron or Neville about it, but they were bunched with the other two first year Gryffindors a few yards further down the stands and she wasn't likely to be listened to because she was a girl. "Oh no, his hands!" she whispered and looked up again to see him waving his arms around while corkscrewing upwards all the time and holding to the buckling broomstick with his legs.

"Potter soars chasing the Snitch high in the sky!" the commentator yelled over a magical microphone. He was a Gryffindor and clearly biased despite Professor McGonagall's repeated warnings against his voiced disappointment with every Hufflepuff goal.

"Are these people _blind_?" she shrieked and fisted her hands, but her comments were drowned in the roar of the spectators.

Hoping Harry wouldn't fall off his broom before she could come up with a solution to his predicament, Hermione turned in circles like a human spindle looking for inspiration, until her mind finally registered a scene she'd seen seconds earlier. Before the announcer assumed that Harry was climbing to get the Snitch, she was one of the few people among the crowd that was looking up at him; two others were Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell, who still had strange looks of concentration on their faces.

A couple hundred feet above, Harry continued to wrestle against his broom, occasionally using his hands for extra grip. They hurt too much against the wild broomstick and it was actually easier to keep balance by spreading his arms and letting his body compensate freely to keep balance. Why did he pick _that_ particular broom from the shed? Then again, perhaps they were all malfunctioning.

He saw a Hufflepuff player approach from his left side and continued to hold on, expecting him or her to taunt him or help drop him to the grassy green pitch below, but instead heard a concerned voice.

"Hold on! That broom's jinxed!"

"That... That explains... It a-a-all!" Harry yelled while being pushed and pulled up and down.

The opponent Seeker dove fast to the ground and Harry followed him with his face, which turned out to be a big mistake. As soon as he focused on the older boy, he lost his rhythm and fell out, aided by the buckling broom, managing to grip the wooden shaft with both hands. They hurt a lot, but splattering himself on the ground from this height would hurt much more.

As he dangled from the broomstick, the gathered crowd switched from chanting and egging their teams to screaming and pointing fingers. He could have sworn someone who sounded just like Hermione yelled "Now you see him!" but ignored the screams in favour of clenching his teeth and hissing while scrunching his eyes to fight the pain and silently command his body to _not_ let go.

Easier said than done when the bones and ligaments you're stressing have been repaired little more than an hour before.

The broomstick kept mimicking a wild bronco and his sweaty left hand slipped, leaving five fingers between life and certain death. "I need to buy some gloves," he thought when he tried to grab the shaft but slipped again. One more jerk and his right hands fingers began to slip, and no human finger can hold an entire human body by itself. "Oh no!"

The moment he released the broom, it became still and fell alongside Harry, who was screaming his lungs out. He felt the same as in his dreams, falling towards the bottom of a lake but this one was a free-fall straight to the hard unforgiving ground. He dearly hoped this was a nightmare.

A second later, his mouth felt as if Uncle Vernon had punched him with his meaty hands, he began to choke on something and brought both hands to his face. He barely had time to feel what it was when two pairs of arms scooped him in mid-fall, knocking the wind out of his lungs and probably breaking a rib by the crunching sound of it.

"What the bloody hell..."

"...were you thinking!"

Gryffindor Beaters Fred and George Weasley managed to slow down and touch ground with Harry sprawled between them, mumbling something and bleeding from his mouth.

"Oy, Gred! Check it out, Potter got the Snitch!" one of the twins shouted.

Madame Hooch carried her referee duties and, upon seeing the winged golden ball, blew her magically enhanced whistle to end the match, causing a deafening cheer from the stands when the commentator yelled "Harry Potter has the Snitch! _Gryffindor wins!_"

Harry spit something big from his mouth and found out he had almost swallowed the Snitch, knocking his front teeth out in the process, and had a pain in his side that increased with every breath. He looked around to find the twins and the rest of the Gryffindor team discussing whether his broom had been jinxed or not with two Hufflepuff players, one of them the boy who asked him to hold on. As if he could have stayed forever on a crazed broom.

"Wha' happen'd?" asked Harry, hissing and clutching his right side.

"We won the game! I knew you'd follow my advice, 'catch the Snitch or die trying' you did!" gushed Oliver Wood, who was dancing a little jig around them. "The season is long, that's for sure, but we've got the best Seeker. We need to plan the next game..."

Captain Wood continued to speak loudly at no one in particular but himself when Healer Pomfrey arrived, followed closely by Ron, Neville and Hermione, who looked pale and shaky, making the scar on her jawline and neck even more noticeable. Harry thought it would be better if Madame Pomfrey took care of her first.

"Why do people play this ridiculous game I'll never understand. Hold still Mr Potter!" she grumbled.

Harry heard her but was instead focused on his friends. Ron was excitedly talking to his brothers, Neville looked extremely nervous, bouncing on his feet while looking around, and Hermione, well she seemed to have paled even further after taking a good look at all the blood staining his Quidditch uniform.

She crouched on the floor next to him, however, whispering in his ear. "I saw the men who jinxed your broom. You're _not_ safe in this school!"

His eyes widened and he was about to whisper a reply but Madame Pomfrey levitated him behind her towards the Infirmary, complaining about dumb children showing off and blaming a supposedly jinxed broomstick for it. Nobody saw the broomstick shudder one last time before vanishing in a cloud of coppery smoke.

* * *

Notes:

1.- I couldn't find a description of the Gringotts coinage, all I remember is that Galleons had a serial number on the edge. Turning buttons into coins was supposed to teach kids how to create textures and materials, a basic knowledge necessary to learn transfiguration from inorganic to organic or vice-versa in second year, I'd say.  
2.- The last movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony contains the "Chor", a chorus singing Ode to Joy (An die Freude) which is a poem by Friedrich Schiller. It is nowadays the official hymn of the European Union.  
3.- Owls and snakes are natural predator and prey respectively, although it depends on the species. Some tree-dwelling snakes are known to attack and eat passing birds, however. Being magical familiars, Hedwig and Blacksnout only bicker with each other.  
4.- I hope Fred and George Weasley were already official Beaters for the Gryffindor team in their third year.


	12. Chapter 12: The Witches' Sabbath

**Chapter 12: The Witches' Sabbath**

Harry and Hermione entered the Infirmary behind Healer Pomfrey, he holding both hands to his still bleeding mouth and she looking everywhere around and even under the beds for any hidden danger. The events of the Quidditch match had made it clear that Harry's earlier suspicions were correct, but what could they do against a madwizard and his lackey, two fully grown men disguised as Hogwarts Professors?

Listening to Hermione whisper what she saw and her certainty that Quirrel and Snape had jinxed his broomstick made him forget about the pain on his chest, but he still couldn't speak well because of the damage done by the Snitch, which he'd spit out on the grassy ground, and his gums hurt terribly.

As soon as Harry was put on his back on a bed he tried to tell the adult witch about the attack and what Hermione had seen, but Healer Pomfrey shushed him after he accused the professors, indicating the portraits lining the walls with her eyes before finishing her examination and excusing herself to fetch the necessary healing potions and his missing incisors. It was Hermione who understood first and whispered "the walls have ears" in his own ear.

"Sho wha'? Maybe 'ey'll 'ell Fumblefore!" he hissed back, his speech impaired by the lack of front teeth.

"_Headmaster_ Dumbledore would say he's disappointed at you again for accusing two of his professors of attacking you, Harry. I know your first impulse is to yell your outrage at the world, but please hear me first?"

Watching him nod hesitantly, she looked up at the portrait of Healer William the Warty, an old healer that worked in Hogwarts in the fourteen hundreds according to the bronze plaque underneath his frame. His efforts to rid the school body of warts earned him the name; that, and the fact his technique involved plucking the warts from the patient and pasting them on himself instead of vanishing them.

"I believe our headmaster is very much like my friend Mrs Morewitt, she's trusting in a way that few people are, and she has trouble following simple linear logic, because magic itself _isn't_ logical. Yours and my adjustments to our first year lessons in every subject where wands are used prove that each of us has a unique way of doing magic, and although it does follow general guidelines, it can take different paths to create the same result. Do you understand what I've said so far?"

"I fink sho... Bu' wha'sh--"

"What's that got to do with you running to any adults, you ask?" Hermione asked, correctly interpreting his words. "Witches and wizards are used to dealing with what they see at any given time, knowing that whatever happened before could've been an infinite number of events. Point in fact is what Malfoy and his goons did to you, and Headmaster Dumbledore's disappointment of your fighting without bothering to find out what happened before he arrived in the Concert Room. I'd say all wizards expect honourable behaviour from each other _because_ of all this uncertainty, and when it doesn't happen, they can't really understand it, since they _couldn't_ logically conclude that you were the victim unless they witnessed it themselves."

Hermione paused and bit her lower lip for a few seconds, saying "I also believe that's the reason Voldemort gathered so much power. Magical folk won't believe another has evil intentions until someone of authority labels him or her as a Dark Lord or Lady for using the Dark Arts."

"Bollosh!" he said and hit a side table hard with his closed fist, probably breaking his little finger.

"_Harry_, c'mon, you're better than this," she growled and took his hand in hers, soothing it and looking around for Madame Pomfrey who had left to find Harry's missing teeth but hadn't come back yet. "We need magically sound proof of your jinxed broom before talking to Professor McGonagall, and only afterwards should you go to the headmaster."

"Sowy... Ouch, it hufts!"

"Of course it hurts, it's a rather solid table you took your frustration on!" she said with a frown. They remained silent until hurried footsteps indicated someone coming in.

"Mr Potter, you have rather fine teeth," Madame Pomfrey said as she entered her realm, the Hogwarts Infirmary. "I'll reattach them after mending your ribs, and _what_ pray tell happened to your right hand? Dear Merlin, this child can't be left alone for a single minute!"

"It was that very bad table's fault, Madame Pomfrey, it must've mocked Harry's toothless smile," explained Hermione with a smirk. She didn't let go or stop caressing his injured hand, though.

The healer paused and looked quizzically at them for a couple of seconds before shaking her head and approached Harry on the same bed he has been laid on since arriving at Hogwarts.

Hermione sat next to him on the bed while Madame Pomfrey reattached Harry's front teeth. The healer was doing a better job than Hermione's parents would have, setting the teeth straight and closing the gap he had between them before.

"Maybe I should have mine removed and reattached," she mused out loud, touching her own large set of incisors with an index finger.

"I am not a Face and Feet Specialist, Ms Granger, but I could refer you to a good friend of mine in Diagon Alley, if you wish?"

Suddenly feeling shy and looking out of the corner of her eyes at her friend, Hermione nodded and smiled. "Why am I feeling so self-conscious all of the sudden?" she wondered. Was it because of the insults Malfoy had thrown at her? Or was it something else, some ridiculously vain womanly desire to look prettier?

Beyond those questions, what do faces and feet have anything to do with each other? "Face and feet healers, Madame Pomfrey?" she just had to ask.

"Quite right, both parts of the body need very special care, wouldn't you agree?"

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded affirmatively and chalked it to yet another oddity of the Magical World. She turned her attention back to Harry, looking pointedly at his forehead. The Siegel rune was clearly etched, bringing him the powers of victory and greatness, as she had discovered in her Ancient Runes textbook and while researching for magical myths in the extensive Hogwarts Library.

"The question is, whose victory does that rune-shaped scar empower? Harry's, or Voldemort's own?" thought Hermione while the healer patched her friend up. Harry's was a magically active scar, certainly much more active than her own scarring from the accident that killed her parents. That thought reminded her that she had still to follow up on item twenty-one, "find out whether there was a wizard/witch in my building or not", a to-do entry she had added the day Madame Pomfrey had told her categorically that her body was marked as the result of magical energy. Hermione was now convinced it had been someone doing magic out of fear, trying to save him or herself, but it still didn't excuse whomever it was from not doing enough to save others.

"Hold still Mr Potter, I'm trying to help you here," admonished Madame Pomfrey, who had a curious look on her face while waving her wand all over him, and her QuickChart Quill kept scribbling furiously on a floating parchment to her right.

"Look, Hermione! I can talk good again!"

Swallowing the need to correct his poor use of the Queen's English, Hermione smiled and he returned a grin of his own. "Oh dear," she thought, "I guess Berny was right, I _am_ going to bring a wizard to her home after all." She wondered if Neville would enjoy spending a week or so in a Muggle environment; she would even invite Ron, though she was sure he wouldn't enjoy himself much since always put her magical versus Muggle comments down, despite his father's work in the Ministry. Lavender on the other hand would most surely love to.

"Harry? I'm inviting some first year Gryffindors to spend a week during Summer holidays at my Uncle Charles' home. Do you believe you could ask those _people_ you live with to drop you in London proper by then?"

The black-haired boy looked like he had just been offered a free cauldronful of Swiss chocolate, an expression of happiness in his face that drew a smile from the stern healer in turn. "I'd love to! But isn't it a bit early though?"

"I like to plan ahead," Hermione said with a casual shrug.

Madame Pomfrey sighed and pocketed her wand, looking at her other patients of the day sleeping on their beds. "Miss Granger, I need you to wait by my office for a minute."

Harry was suddenly suspicious. The healer had only been kind and attentive towards him since the beginning of the year, but so had Mr Harper and he was a lying thief who just wanted to use him to cover up his wrongdoing. "What if Madame Pomfrey is working with Voldemort and Quirrell, and now wants to finish the job and kill me?" he panicked and spoke aloud.

"Don't! I mean... I mean, is it alright if she stays, ma'am?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid she can't. You may owl your family to let them know I wish to speak with them concerning your health, however. I'm sure they would like to know you're well and would approve of Hermione being privy to healing information if you explain it well?"

Both kids snorted and Madame Pomfrey frowned, expecting an explanation to such behaviour. It was Harry who spoke first, "The people I've lived with until coming to Hogwarts couldn't care less about my health... They'd miss their free gardener, dishwasher, mail sorter, cook and general caretaker if I died, though!"

The healer couldn't believe her ears when young Potter confessed to such disregard from his family so casually, going so far as to laugh about it with the Granger child! Or was he simply exaggerating, like all children are prone to do? "Mister Potter, has your family been mistreating you? Merlin, I forgot about you Ms Granger, please go wait in the corridor."

"_I said no!_" Harry yelled, switching from a good mood into outright anger. "Hermione means more to me than aunt Dorothea and her fat husband and son. Hermione stays here!"

Seeing that Hermione was sitting back on his right, Harry felt his heart rate slowing down, and took comfort from her hand in his. He looked up at Madame Pomfrey and her face was alternating between curiosity to hurt and then disapproval, all expressions he'd been keen to understand in order to survive primary school and life with his relatives.

"Tut, tut... Very well, this is most unheard of, but I will accommodate your plea, Mr Potter. As you surely remember, I examined you after your mishap in your first Potions lesson. What you don't know is that the results were... Unexpected to say the least." Madame Pomfrey sighed, knowing her patient had the right to know this but Headmaster Dumbledore had insisted in keeping it a secret.

If young Potter hadn't come into the Infirmary with broken hands right before his Quidditch match, she wouldn't have kept a watchful eye on him at all. She had been one of the first people to see him fighting against what she believed to have been a malfunctioning broomstick, but her expert healer's eye for hexes, jinxes and curses had allowed her to recognize the faint echo of a real jinx.

Realizing they had told the truth and the child's life was endangered in Hogwarts had thrown her mind off the comfortable pink nimbus it had been living in, and if they were right about the jinxing, could young Potter be right on his accusation as well? "Impossible," she thought, "I don't know Quirinus very well, but Severus can be many things unpleasant, yet never a murderer. Not after... After his rumoured bad experience at the hands of Death Eaters."

In any event, she was going to help him and be honest with him, even if she had no idea how to convince Albus that someone had tried to kill a student, of all things! Helping would start by performing her duty as a healer, properly informing the child as she should have done in the first place.

"There's a concentrated aura of somewhat unsettling magic on your forehead, almost sentient in nature but very, very weak. The problem is that it has increased in power since then," she told her small patient.

"Really? Well, that explains it," Hermione stated, looking sideways at her friend.

"Sentient means something alive, doesn't it?" asked Harry, at which his friend nodded in confirmation. "Huh, now it makes sense. Thank you ma'am!"

Whatever Poppy Pomfrey had anticipated as the children's reaction, it wasn't this. Screams and fear, yes, but smiles and relaxed faces as if they had just solved life's greatest puzzle were as unexpected as the diagnostic of Potter's cursed scar. All she could reply was a feeble "I'm sorry?"

"Ma'am, I don't care if you don't believe me... Us, I mean, but Dum-- Headmaster Dumbledore though I was possessed by Voldemort before his phoenix kidnapped me, and tried to split me from my friends as well as testing me to see if I was evil or not."

Madame Pomfrey flinched at You-Know-Who's hated name, and then looked back and forth between these first years' faces. They looked young enough, but had a presence of mind she had only seen in children who were forced to grow up before their time, those faced with harsh experienced earlier in life.

"And just today, our headmaster said he was disappointed at Harry for fighting against _three_ bullies! The truth of the matter was that my friend had been the victim, and yet we had no proof and the professors arrived in the middle of a scuffle," Hermione commented. "Which is reason enough to suspect he's still fixated on the idea of possession, or perhaps some damage from Voldemort's curse."

Flinching again, the healer had to praise their courage at speaking You-Know-Who's name, unable to put herself in their perspective as Muggle-raised people, who still ignored the true power of words. She jumped a few inches on air when an elderly voice greeted her formally.

"Chief Healer Pomfrey, how fares our Gryffindor Seeker?" asked Headmaster Dumbledore as he strolled into the Infirmary. "Young as you are, Harry, pulling such acrobatic broomstick moves is quite dangerous."

Harry looked at Hermione, "should I tell him?" clearly expressed on his face. She replied with an "it's up to you" face of her own, followed by a nose-wrinkle, which he interpreted as a "maybe not, after all" and he couldn't agree more. She had chewed his head off after meeting Fluffy about always searching help from a professor, but the fact she was wary of an adult who happened to be the highest authority in the castle was an indication of how suspicious the headmaster was to her.

"I understand, sir."

"Glad to hear you say it, my boy. Poppy, why did you worry young Harry with such devastating news of his... His condition? I believe we had an agreement that the boy should be spared of the worry?" the older wizard asked, his voice only partially gentle.

"Why shouldn't I be told? I understand it's a leftover from Voldemort trying to kill me," Harry said, too distressed to be polite. "Besides, I believe in honesty 'cause I've been made a fool all my life and lied to one too many times; I'd like to believe I've got enough courage to do what's right, but I _can't_ do that if people hide stuff from me. They made me _hate_ my mum and dad, did you know that Mr Dumbledore? They lied to me and... And made me hate them-- And then this teacher, he... He used me for _money_..."

Harry went silent and sagged a little, but then turned to Hermione and squeezed her hand in his. "Another thing is that I've experienced what a true friend is, and I'd like to believe Madame Pomfrey can be more than a doctor-- I mean healer to me, a friend that can trust me to understand if she's got bad news, and then tell me what to do about it!"

His little speech seemed to shake the white-bearded wizard, whose eyes successively widened in surprise, crinkled in a wince and then hardened as if outraged as it went on. Headmaster Dumbledore then looked at him from behind half-moon spectacles and a twinkle in his eyes, while Hermione was amazed that her friend had been able to pull all that out of his chest without yelling and hitting the walls, and not a little proud as well, though her first instinct was to tell him off for speaking back to the headmaster so disrespectfully.

As Harry looked up at the old wizard, he began to feel an uncomfortable pressure and averted his eyes with a gasp. He had already felt that before, at the time Snape had been looking down at him. "Wicked! I'd like to learn how to do that, sir!"

"Do what, my boy?"

"Pull other people's thoughts, of course. Professor Snape does the same thing," said Harry casually.

"Albus! Are you attempting Legillimency on young Mr Potter?" quipped Madame Pomfrey, who took a step forward.

With a sigh, Dumbledore conjured a flashy chair upholstered to match his quadracoloured red, green, yellow and blue striped robes and golden pointy hat, sitting on it. "Yes I am, Poppy. It is a Headmaster's prerogative to use the passive aspects of the Art in order to aid in conflict resolution or in the course of a school-related investigation. My boy, I must apologize on behalf of Hogwarts, I saw the memory of your battle against a faulty..."

"Jinxed," Harry interrupted but the headmaster simply continued talking.

"...broomstick. However, and it pains me to disclose this, the Board of Governors is quite stubborn when it comes to upgrading our leisure equipment, which is at the moment almost a century old."

"Well that's just rich," thought Hermione. "The headmaster can see inside our minds and he _still_ believed Harry was somehow evil!" She decided to voice a question then, "Why didn't you apply the same technique earlier today, sir?" Hermione asked.

Headmaster Dumbledore sagged a little on the chair next to Harry's bed. "Alas, I did. You are a very observant girl, Ms Granger, and capable of discussing matters in a way a child your age wouldn't easily accomplish, I must say. Peter, your Ancient Runes professor, said so as well, highly amused at your verbal sparring after class."

Hermione shrugged and looked down at her lap embarrassed for a second, before insisting on a reply from the old wizard who had cleverly avoided answering. "Headmaster, then you must've seen the memory of those boys hurting Harry!"

"Mr Potter's mind was, to put it simply, drowning in anger at the time. The Mind Arts are as wonderful as they are dangerous, and passive Legillimency cannot break through such clouding emotions," he explained.

"Why didn't you try it on me then, sir?"

"Because, my dear girl, all I saw was a group of young boys. _And_ one girl," he added after the look in Hermione's face, "resorting to violence to settle their differences instead of being civil. There was no need to see anything further, for you were _all_ at fault. Levelling a wand at a fellow student _is_ considered a serious offence with serious punishment under Magical Law at large, well beyond the point deduction and detention Professor Snape has seen fit to punish you with in accordance to school regulations."

Harry frowned at the veiled threat from the headmaster. If there was a subject he was well versed in, it was threats. Uncle Vernon was a master in the use of direct and subtle threats as a motivation for him to do his chores or simply to become invisible inside his house, the opposite of Hermione who would use explanations and reasons to ask him to do things, and even then only if he wanted to.

He smiled a bit at recalling her way of handling him. Snape had accused his friend of being a Potterette on their first day of school, but he actually found it warming to be able to call Hermione _his_ Potterette, despite the way the Potions Professor made it seem like a bad thing. She would help him find proof and show Headmaster Dumbledore that Voldemort was back, and trying to kill him inside the school.

Anyway, Harry had more urgent questions, "But you singled me out, sir. Why?"

"Alas, perhaps it was wrong of me to feel the need to be... Well, to care about your conduct too deeply, to put it simply. Your parents were well-loved students in this school, and yes, perhaps I've overstepped the boundaries between headmaster and pupil," the aged wizard said with growing worry.

Scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, Harry blurted "You saw that I was angry, but what about the Lords of the Playground and Malfoy?"

"As I told your dear friend, there was no need to spend time sifting through their surface memories and emotions as the situation was bad enough. The Mind Arts do require much concentration, which perhaps precludes many from learning them properly, if at all," the headmaster told them in a discouraging tone of voice, before pausing and making his beard twitch from the smile underneath. "Lords of the Playground, Mr Potter?"

Harry took on a faraway expression for a moment before turning to the adult he didn't trust. "It's a personal story, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"I see... Well, time wastes away and you should go celebrate today's victory after Poppy releases you in good health," the headmaster said and stood up, the gaily coloured chair disappearing without a sound. He looked down at the two friends sitting side by side on the infirmary bed and sighed when they avoided his eyes. "As is my duty to inform you my boy, you have the right to lodge a complaint in writing to the Board of Directors of Hogwarts regarding the faulty..."

"Jinxed!" Harry insisted again.

"...broomstick and your accident on the pitch. If you wish, your Head of House shall help you address it properly," Dumbledore added, hoping to steer the oddly rebellious Harry towards trusting someone he trusted himself. And why was the boy insisting on calling the broom jinxed? It was clearly a problem with the charms wearing off, as was wont to happen in equipment that is almost a hundred years old. A first year student would never be able to tell the difference, even if one was to consider the possibility.

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" asked Hermione, who was wearing an expression Harry had already discovered was always on her face when she had a solution to a problem in class. "You said the Board is always tight on the budget for sports implements?"

"Tight on the budget, young girl? I'm afraid your words confuse me," the headmaster said.

"Oh... What I mean to ask is whether they release few funds for Quidditch equipment because the Board favours other areas of learning in Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, phrasing her question differently.

"Just how _old_ is this child?" Dumbledore wondered inside his mind, worried that even now she was avoiding his gaze, as was Harry. Aloud, he nodded and said "You are correct, Ms Granger."

"I might have a solution then."

Harry perked up at that and looked at his friend, silently asking her what she was talking about. But then he remembered _who_ she was in the Muggle world, put two and two together, and his eyebrows rose up. "You're gonna ask the Foundation to help?"

Shaking her head up and down, Hermione smiled and left it at that, failing to notice the intrigued look in their headmaster's face, which turned into amusement as she looked for a small notebook and a quill from inside her silk pouch, as well as a book on Quidditch and a perused broomstick catalogue from last year, pulling more unexpected items out of the way like a capped jar of wet water beetles she must have collected from the lake, and strangely enough, a very rare Egyptian Astronomical Obelisk that looked to be in pristine condition.

"A girl chosen by the Raven and a boy who looks attuned to Magicks of Old. We shall live in interesting times indeed," mused the old headmaster. But why was Harry so distrustful? Fawkes had taken a risk and proven young Harry was in complete control of himself, with a pure soul untainted by evil. But from the clearly horrible household Dumbledore had condemned the child to live in as the lesser of two evils, he should have been a grateful, humble child who would embrace any small act of kindness spared to him and accept any hardships thrown in his path; someone in awe of the Magical World, who could be easily led by the hand to fulfil his sorrowful fate.

Instead, Headmaster Dumbledore was faced with a true Potter Evans child, an apparently smart boy yet too easily angered for his own good, but also valiant and observant, friend to his friends and quick to act against perceived wrongs. He was quite a little mischievous too, as was evidenced by his missadventures so far. "And we're still at the beginning of term!" thought Dumbledore with a real smile, eagerly looking forward to the next years of Harry Potter's life, however short it may be.

Headmaster Dumbledore was also aware of Harry and Hermione's daily rendezvous on top of the Gryffindor Tower, ever since a bronze gargoyle from the eastern walls had gossiped about it to the stone dragon that lined the rooftop of the Great Hall, who in turn told the statues flanking the Headmaster's Office windows about "a couple of ickle firsties worshipping the morning sun together". It was heart-warming to see their friendship blossom, if only Harry was a regular pupil in the Hogwarts student body. But he wasn't a normal child, he was a boy marked by Darkness and the only means to put an end to the embodiment of Evil that is Lord Voldemort.

He wished he could find a solution, distil the ultimate magic and free the boy from his task, for it had brought nothing but pain and suffering to him. "Alas, his path is set and once Evil returns, Harry _will_ face it and, properly guided, defeat it once and for all."

The centenarian wizard turned to Madame Pomfrey. "Poppy, have you perchance brought the Snitch your patient caught so spectacularly up here with him?"

"No Albus, it must have been left on the pitch. Perhaps Rolanda has it?"

"Perhaps she does," Dumbledore replied and noticed he had Harry's attention on him while his friend scratched away on parchment. "Alas, I failed to see it on the pitch and called it with the Accio charm, a useful spell Professor Flitwick shall teach you in a few years," he said looking at young Potter, "but it also failed. So, I considered summoning it to me. Unfortunately, not knowing _where_ it is exactly, I would have summoned every single Snitch in Britain," the old wizard said with a chuckle.

The image of the Headmaster of Hogwarts dodging thousands of summoned Snitches made Harry laugh and Hermione snort. She reddened at her lack of respect and apologized to their headmaster, who waved it off with a _laissez faire_ attitude and amused, twinkling blue eyes.

Lost in thought, Dumbledore finally said goodbye and strolled out of the Hogwarts Infirmary reassessing his view on Harry Potter once again, barely acknowledging the pair of young Gryffindor girls walking towards the double doors he had just exited.

Inside the large room Healer Pomfrey continued to evade Harry's questioning eyes, busying herself with her shelves loaded with potions and salves, undoing and redoing a few beds twice with her wand, or simply fussing over the only other two patients, who were actually fast asleep and in no need of assistance. Hermione was also busy writing what looked like a six-feet essay on the virtues of Quidditch broomsticks, and he actually felt sorry for whoever was going to read her detailed request for a donation.

He had been left steaming about Headmaster Dumbledore's refusal to believe the broom was jinxed and the fact Madame Pomfrey probably _knew_ the broom had been jinxed but wouldn't speak about it in front of the stupid living portraits, nor say a word to the headmaster either.

Humming softly to himself, he tried to remember everything he felt when the flying broom began to act weird, trying to find out _how_ it felt in order to keep an eye out for jinxes and hexes, just like he and Hermione had started doing with their wand magic. His friend would use some fancy words like ex-oh-corporal-something-or-other, but to him it was just "feeling" the magic coming out of his wand.

"Huh, I wonder if I could just ask Quirrell about curses and stuff in class," he thought, imagining the bumbling professor sweating and stuttering even more when he raised his hand and asked how to counter a jinxed broom next D.A.D.A. class. Suddenly Harry a memory of a scared-looking professor being hissed at by Snape came to his mind; Snape seemed to have been injured and had actually told Quirrell to shut up because he named the spell they had used! "They've been together in this since the beginning of the year! That's how Snape got hurt," he concluded out loud.

"But did Professor Snape harm himself trying to hurt you?" Hermione asked in a whisper, once more following his train of thought. "You saw the entry that describes Fiendfyre as an all-burning fire, nigh impossible to control. I'd say such horrible fire would've been quite noticeable anywhere near you or I," she added, reasoning with him.

"Yeah, that's true... Oh, what if they were setting up a trap or something?"

"Possible, but not likely. There are hundreds of kids running up and down the halls all day long, how could they target you specifically?"

"I dunno... Hermione, what if they met Fluffy by chance, then, just like us, and that's why they used that fire-thing and it got out of hand? I mean, if it wasn't to get to me, it sure as hell was to get to whatever Fluffy has been guarding!"

Hermione gasped and clutched a hand to her chest. "You don't think Fluffy's been hurt, do you Harry? Oh, no, maybe he's been-- I-I just can't say it... We _must_ visit with Hagrid today and find out!"

Silently nodding, Harry finally discovered what it was that had been bothering him for the past fifteen minutes. His teeth were all in the _wrong_ positions, or rather they were now corrected, but felt "weird and out of place" as he termed it. A cough brought him out of reacquainting himself with his teeth and he saw Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown standing just a few feet from him.

"Harry?" Lavender called, "I, er... I was climbing down the stands and this... This Snitch was on the ground? I think someone was charming it a while back but I had it in my hands, and... Well, it's got your blood on it. Even _I'm_ aware that you can't be too careful about one's blood."

Hermione and Harry tilted their heads comically together to the left, but Lavender resisted the urge to laugh and tried to explain, extending her hand and presenting the Quidditch Snitch. "Like my mother says, _our magical prowess demands respect_. In other words, magic can bite you back in the arse!"

"Lavender! How crude," Hermione complained half-heartedly because she was beginning to grow tired of complaining. Truth was, she never knew people cursed so much without meaning an insult in everyday conversation, never being too close to kids her own age except perhaps Bernadette, her cousin, who didn't curse but did call her nasty names at times.

"All right, thanks. But what _can_ you do with someone's blood?" Harry asked, silently giving a nod to let Hermione know it was alright for her to pick the Snitch from Lavender's hand.

"If you aren't into the whole Dark Magic thing, tracking spells and personalized enchantments like what my mum did with me when I was a baby; so I wouldn't wander too far away, you see. And then there's the _beautiful_ charmed necklace that daddy gave me when I was five, it's got all these Ever-Sparkling charms on the rubies, it's so beautiful! And if I ever lost it, all I do is snap my fingers and it comes back as if it were summoned," Lavender said and continued without so much as taking a breath.

"Oooh, and then there's the entire range of Sensing-Your-Senses kind of enchantments, kind of similar and likely like the Situation Clocks? Well, never you mind," she said at the blank look in Hermione and Harry's faces, "the idea is that you get to know what the person you're tracking is feeling at that moment... Yay! You could also add a blood-based charm to your familiar! I _so_ want a pink bunny, you see? Anyhow, this little charm would make it so that my cutest pink bunny of them all wouldn't bite me or run away..."

Harry stared at his fellow Gryffindor with a mixture of awe and annoyance as she continued to babble on and on about blood enchantments and occasionally talking about the things she has or wants to have. It was so similar to the way Dudley would ramble on about the latest toys and things he wanted, that Harry felt like shutting her up with a shout, but at the same it was amazing that she had actually come to the Infirmary to help him, and that she really seemed to _want_ to talk to him.

"Why did Harry's simple question get her so wound up?" Hermione whispered to Parvati.

The Asian girl smirked and replied slowly, as if talking to a little child. "Because he's Harry _Potter_, silly. Who wouldn't sell a finger to the nearest hag just to have him speak with you?" she added rhetorically. "Ah, but what am I saying, _you_ managed to meet him on board the Express and anger him five minutes later, then befriend The-Boy-Who-Lived only to anger him again, and then be the one to join him in who knows what sort of adventures night after night! And your fingers are all intact, for Shiva's mercy!"

Hermione looked towards her dearest, and perhaps only male friend and spoke softly, yet loud enough for her words to reach Parvati's ears, "I don't care for Harry The-Boy-Who-Lived Potter; I care for the boy behind the glass, the pale and thin boy who shared something so personal to him with me, who looked at me and said _I'm just like you_ without moving his lips."

With a sigh, Hermione turned back to the Patil twin. "You know, Lavender is about the get herself hexed if she doesn't shut up about her charmed tea set and how cute her animated dolls can be."

"Laaavie! Mum is here!" bellowed Parvati with a high-pitched voice, making Lavender yelp and jump a foot on the air while looking around the infirmary like a frightened puppy.

"Merlin's moth-eaten robes, Parv! I've told you _never_ to imitate my mum like that!" she said with a hand over her heart. "She's bad enough as it is, thank you very much. Coming to school was a real relief, you see, mums can be _so_ annoying!"

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?" Hermione replied scathingly. "Nor would Harry for that matter... You'll see why at my uncle's home; I mean if you are there... I mean to say, I've invited you of course, with me, us, I mean. Blast it all! I'm terrible at this..."

Lavender, Parvati and even Harry kept looking at her, trying to understand what she had tried to say as she spun her arms around, one hand splayed open and the other holding a bloodied Snitch. "You've probably already noticed I'm somewhat ineffective when it comes to socializing," she paused for the expected snorts and taunts, yet they never came from either of the first-year girls. "Anyway, given your liking for all things Muggle as well as your friendship to Parvati, I would like to invite you two to my family's home sometime during the Summer Holidays."

"Certainly! I'd love to, and I hope Parvati's parents agree to drive us there. They have the right to use a _car_, you see?" Lavender whispered the last part with something akin to lust in her eyes. "A moving Muggle chariot! Only high-ranking Ministry personnel have access to those!"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and tried to hold their snickers at Lavender's obvious joy just from thinking about riding on a motorcar, something that was so mundane for them both. Although Harry wasn't always thrilled to ride in uncle's vehicle because, well, his uncle is usually there squashing the driver's seat and complaining about foreign cars and their bad engineering because he doesn't fit properly inside.

"Hermione, isn't it somewhat early in the year to be inviting for next Greeshma-- Hmmm, Summer that is, of all seasons?" asked Parvati.

"Well, I-- Don't you dare laugh, Harry!" Hermione said and crossed her arms over her chest with a huff before adding a lame "I merely like to plan ahead..."

Harry still laughed at the upset look on her face, knowing she wouldn't hold it against him, and then told the girls he had said the same thing earlier. Both Parvati and Lavender seemed to preen at his freely given attention, and then began to whisper and giggle to each other, making him very uncomfortable and not knowing what to do next. Harry decided to search for Madame Pomfrey instead and hopped off the bed, leaving the impossible-to-understand pair of giggling girls to themselves.

Thinking that "to do what's right" also applied to his own troubles, Harry walked into the Chief Healer's open door and took in the brightly lit office. A simple wooden workbench served as both desk and preparation table, while the entire opposite wall was covered in bookshelves filled with books and loose scrolls of parchment of all sizes and colours. Next to the door he had just crossed, a series of cabinets held phials and jars with the aid of freezing charms, judging by the icicles inside, and Madame Pomfrey busied herself by crouching down and trying to reach for something deep into the lowest shelf.

"Do you need some help, ma'am?"

"Ahhh! Mr Potter, you _truly_ shouldn't startle older witches like that!" she said after knocking a few flasks and _something_ that tried to hop away on its own to the ground.

"Sorry," he said, really embarrassed for making her break the potions or whatever those were. Then his eyes narrowed and he kept looking at the only framed picture of the room. "Your portrait is empty right now. Why didn't you tell Headmaster Dumbledore what happened if you believed me?"

The older witch seemed to be lost for a second, as if struggling to understand what he was talking about, and Harry realized she wasn't faking it as she had been pretending to be busy a few minutes earlier. Why was she having trouble remembering he told her two professors had tried to kill him?

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter. It was as if... Oh dear!" the healer exclaimed and darted towards her workbench to pick a quill and scribble a series of words in some language Harry didn't know. "What do you remember, child? Tell me now!"

Doing as she asked, he recounted his last minutes of Quidditch playing, from the moment his broomstick began to shudder and buckle to Hermione's whispered words on the pitch stating he wasn't safe in the school. Madame Pomfrey kept nodding and glancing at the still empty frame on the wall, occasionally tutting and writing more than what he had told her; at least that was what it looked like.

"What's going on, Madame Pomfrey? Are you feeling alright?"

"I will be now... Whatever caused the clouding of my memory must have affected an entire wing of the castle, and only a powerful witch or wizard could do so. Or a group of people involved in a ritual, but that would be too noticeable. How is it you remember it still, Harry?"

"Er... Don't really know, ma'am. I guess being thrown out of my broom from a hundred feet high isn't something I'll ever forget," he replied with a shrug.

The healer looked down at him with calculating eyes for a moment, and then made a decision. "Harry, could I trouble you for a willingly given cut of your flesh?"

"Excuse me?!" Harry had just received an interesting lecture on blood-magic, if annoyingly laced with lots of inane commentaries, but interesting anyway, and now the Hogwarts Chief Healer wanted a whole piece of him?

"Mr Potter-- Harry, were you sincere about what you told Albus, that it would please you to be... To forge a friendship beyond this mutual professional relationship of ours?"

"Yeeeah... Why d'you ask?" he drawled suspiciously, before adding a quick "ma'am" at the end, trying to be polite.

* * *

Outside the office, a couple of minutes before Harry waited for an answer from the older witch with a raised eyebrow, a brown-haired young witch had been using the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips while eyeing the winged golden ball on her hands, with deep concentration and not a little curiosity. Truth was, she was actually curious about the red liquid covering the Snitch instead of the sporting item itself.

Hermione had developed a sudden urge to taste the still fresh coat of blood from it, probably kept that way as an unexpected result from the ever-clean charms on it. Whatever the case, she knew she was quirky about her food, and about the organization of her bathroom kit, and about a hundred little things normal people wouldn't pay attention to, so perhaps tasting her most significant friend's haemoglobin would simply fall into that big box of quirks she carried around.

Her natural curiosity had been aroused anyway, and Hermione hoped Harry wouldn't mind. She looked up to the healer's office when a loud sound of broken glass came from inside, wondered what had Harry done this time, but quickly returned to the blood at hand. Shrugging, she opened her mouth wide and slowly licked the Snitch.

"Hermione, that's truly disgusting!" Parvati commented, breaking her whispered gossip session and scrunching her face as Lavender said "Eeeew!" and pretended to gag.

She had already ran her tongue over the bloodied Snitch and shivered while her eyes glazed over for a moment. "That was... That was quite disappointing, actually," she thought to herself, smacking her lips to focus on the metallic taste. Taste was all there was to it; no magical burst, no sudden intimate knowledge of Harry's mind, nothing but the odd, scintillating lights on the edge of her vision. "Well, that certainly _is_ something," she mumbled and then the lights began to swirl around her faster and faster, making her sway on her feet.

"P-Parvati? I may have done something really foolish..." she managed to croak out before falling on her back on top of the bed, unconscious.

* * *

Back inside Madame Pomfrey's office, Harry snapped his head back as he heard someone yelling for help. He rushed outside to find his friend passed out on a bed, her things all over the floor, Lavender standing on top of a stool because Blacksnout had been slithering into the infirmary, while Parvati tried some spell on Hermione.

"_Stop!_" he yelled and flung a couple of flasks from the nearest table at the Indian girl, without ever touching them, before reaching for his friend and pushing the bed she lay on away, with enough force to move an entire row of them against the farthest wall. Luckily the other patients had been placed on the wall farthest from the windows.

Awed by the display of accidental magic that left half a dozen bed frames completely destroyed and anther half dozen piled up against the wall, Madame Pomfrey turned her attention to Parvati. The Gryffindor was crouched on the floor looking between the shattered glass behind her and Harry Potter's angry face staring at her from the other side of the room, saying she was only trying to Ennervate his friend.

"Please tell him what the spell does, Madame Pomfrey! I haven't harmed Hermione!"

"Mr Potter, she speaks the truth. The Reviving Spell does exactly as it says, it wakes someone from unconsciousness."

"_Fine!_" Harry yelled back, shaking Hermione with one hand. "But it ain't working!"

Having lost so many house points in the beginning of term had done nothing to decrease Harry's notoriety, and those who thought of him as a spoiled boy used that as an excuse to slight him, at least until the most vocal about it began to notice an increase of the Weasley Twins' pranks on them. On the other hand, because of how famous he is to Magical Britain and perhaps the world at large, the rest of his fellow classmates expected him to be many things Harry firmly believed he wasn't ever going to be.

Powerful enough to defeat the Dark Wizard not even Dumbledore could stop was Harry's primary objection, for he wasn't even sure _how_ that happened, or _if_ that ever really did happen, despite the headmaster's written testimony found on the W.E.A.K. book Hermione had.

Whatever his self-doubt, after a display of magic no eleven-year-old should be capable of, the legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived as told by Lavender Brown, gossip monger and avid cuteness-seeker, would escalate to new heights after today. "Hermione was fine until she licked some of Harry's blood, ma'am. Now could you please get this _thing_ away from me?" she explained and pleaded, pointing at the coiled snake just below the stool she stood on, swinging its head back and forth while hissing.

"The frightened yellow-haired youngling did nothing to my abaeteh, amigo. After missstresss fell asssleep, the dark-haired one waved a branch at her, but didn't touch her."

Harry listened to the boa's description of what happened, not wanting to correct Blacksnout and tell him that one didn't need to actually _touch_ another with a wand in order to harm him or her.

"Did I ever tell you how a big, fat and deliciousssly scared human once came to clean my neighbor's nest? He's an Aussie snake, ill-tempered that one... It wasss just an ordinary day, asss usual I wasss bored out of my mind when all of the sssudden..."

Tuning out the snake's tale, Harry continued to shake his friend awake, to no avail. "Madame Pomfrey? Please help her!"

"Hold your hippogriffs, young man. She is in no apparent danger, her breathing is normal and her skin still has a healthy tone," said the old witch. "Now, go apologize to the two young ladies for blaming and scaring them while I tend to your friend."

A lifetime of training would have made him obey the adult at once, but after learning the hard way that grown-ups shouldn't be trusted, and now beginning to really understand the Dursleys were wrong about one too many things thanks to Hermione and their morning talks, he frowned and stood his ground. "I'm not leaving her side!"

Sighing, Madame Pomfrey paused her examination, looked down at the scrawny boy and rephrased herself. "Please make amends with your housemates, Harry. They weren't at fault, and I see nothing wrong with Ms Granger, except for an unusually deep dreamlike condition."

"But--"

"Do you wish to have your anger control your life, or handle the right side of the wand instead?" the healer asked pointedly. "Look around you, Mr Potter. This is the result of your misguided chivalry!"

Seeing the scrapheap of mangled beds and the broken glass around Parvati for the first time, Harry felt ashamed of himself because he hadn't even noticed the mess he had caused. Moreover, he could have seriously injured someone.

He then focused on the girls and noticed their star-struck attitude had changed into one of cautiousness and, if he wasn't mistaken, fear of him. "I don't want people to fear me, I'd be just like _Dudleykins_ at school" he mumbled in disgust and scratched the nape of his neck. "I don't wanna hurt innocent people either, Madame Pomfrey. Never like this... Not even for helping someone I like."

That spoken desire was the rune that crafted the enchantment for Poppy Pomfrey, Chief Healer at Hogwarts, solidifying her resolve to protect Harry from those that wish him harm, even if it meant going against Albus' instructions to have minimum contact with the boy. She turned away from the sleeping Hermione to see a very embarrassed black-haired child struggling to find the right words to apologize. He had the girl's roughly five-feet-long snake coiled around his shoulders and looked to be using the reptile as a comforter of some kind.

Harry had tried to find a way to say sorry without looking like a good-for-nothing, worthless freak begging not to be thrown out of the house in front of Parvati and Lavender, but he couldn't find the words to match his feelings. Instead, he settled for plain and simple. "I'm sorry."

"Is that it?" Lavender asked bluntly.

"Lavender! Harry Potter is making an apology. You should be more considerate and let him finish before interrupting," said Parvati with an expectant face.

"Er... That's about it. I'm sorry, you know, for all this," he said, waving his arms around the room.

"Boys!" the two girls chorused after a moment of silence, and then walked away between giggles and whispered words.

Dumbfounded, Harry watched them leave the infirmary and stared at the empty doorway for a moment. He suddenly remembered to close his mouth and hissed "did I sssay sssomething wrong?"

If boas had lips to snort with, Blacksnout would have. "Not very good with wordsss, are you amigo?"

"Sssmart-arssse. Not very good at _walking_ any longer, are you Blacksssnout?"

"But _you_ ssstill have legsss," the boa pointed out, "ssso make them ussseful and get me to my abaeteh. Chop-chop! I want to be there when ssshe awakensss."

Shaking his head, he made his way back to Hermione's bedside and extended his arm for the familiar to climb down. Harry met a disapproving look from Madame Pomfrey but stubbornly refused to stop what he was doing, instead going as far as to open one of the large leaded-glass windows for his friend's winged familiar, before tackling the task of untangling the dozen beds he had damaged.

He grunted, pulled, twisted, huffed and pulled again, using one hand, two hands, a foot and trying to dislodge the iron bars this way and that, only to end up holding a loose brass knob from one of the foot boards, and not achieving much else.

"Why. Won't. These. Things. Move!" he grunted and stepped back panting from the effort, evil-eyeing the scrapheap and kicking it swiftly, causing a resounding clank of metal hitting metal.

"Mr Potter! That will be five points from House Gryffindor!" said madame Pomfrey, who then winked and added "I couldn't very well deduct points earlier, since you used no wand or physical actions to damage Hogwarts property."

Gaping at the healer, Harry started to get angry as he was wont to do when his mood flipped, until he noticed the smirk on her face and suddenly understood what she wanted to say. Rules applied demerits to those using magic in the hallways, but magic _with_ wands! More than that, it seemed witnessed direct action against someone or something was required to grant punishment. "Just like this morning with the Lords of the Playground. And that's how the Weasley Twins had been spending their time pranking Hogwarts at large without getting themselves expelled," he thought.

"I am a Healer, child. A good one, if I may say so, but a healer first and foremost, which is something my... My relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore and his leadership of the Or-- Of tolerant, good people who fought the darkness have obfuscated for too long." She spoke and checked on her other patients, leaving Hermione to sleep under the softest cotton sheets Harry had ever touched, even the ones in his huge Gryffindor bed weren't as comfortable, and that was saying a lot.

"I don't understand, ma'am."

"What don't you understand, Harry? May I call you Harry, by the way?" Poppy Pomfrey asked.

"Yeah, that's all I am, just Harry is fine. I meant your words, like abruscate or something?"

A soft, tired voice interrupted the healer's reply. "Obfuscate. It means to confuse or to make something difficult to understand and sense. Think listening to faraway music when a plane flies overhead, obfuscating it."

"Hermione! You all right? D'you feel any pain?"

Chuckling, Madame Pomfrey stepped forward. "Tut-tut, I believe that is _my_ question to ask, Harry."

"Sorry..."

She waved his apology with a smile and used her wand to pull Hermione's bed into her office, _accidentally_ conjuring a privacy screen right in front of the painting and waving around for added security.

"Well now, how do you feel, Ms Granger?"

"Like I've just run the London Marathon... Twice!" she said and proved it by trying to raise herself, only to fall back on the bed like a sack of potatoes. "Also, why do I have two memories of the very same event?"

"Uh?" was Harry's articulate question.

"I mean, I have a _vague_ memory of watching those men too focused on you when nobody else was, and then you fighting to stay on the broomstick, but I also have the memory of... Of your point of view!" exclaimed Hermione, looking at her friend with astonishment. "Oh, Harry, you were so scared!"

"Scared?" he asked, "No, no. Nuh-huh, I wasn't scared. Maybe I screamed a little, but I wasn't scared. Nope, not at all."

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione huffed. "Boys and their ridiculous bravado. Fine! You weren't afraid of becoming one with the ground, then."

"You mean to say, Ms Granger, that you're still aware of your friend's plight over the Quidditch pitch?" asked Madame Pomfrey.

"Of course, ma'am. Why wouldn't I be?"

The older witch sighed, "I believe someone has cast a broad Confundus charm, or perhaps a ritual with the same results. Only Harry's insistence warned me of it before completion, and you will find that your fellow team players have most likely already forgotten everything regarding a jinxed flying broom," she said, looking at Harry by the end.

"Voldemort!" snarled Harry, making Madame Pomfrey jump and cringe. "He did this to hide his trail! Now I'm _never_ going to convince Dumbledore."

"Uuurgh... Harry, please stop ranting. The lights came back," moaned Hermione while trying to scratch her eyeballs using her knuckles.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... You children must be the most ailment-prone couple to walk these halls since we last had a pupil in need of _special_ care certain times of the month. No, Ms Granger, not that kind of monthly witchy inconvenience, that's quite easily aided with the right potion and affects us all," the healer said as she looked down on Hermione. On the other hand, Harry couldn't understand what they were talking about and simply shrugged at the adult's initial remark.

"Which is why," she continued, "now that we're out of reach from unwanted ears, painted or otherwise, I must speak to you about the upcoming Samhain," Madame Pomfrey said and adopted a very serious tone of voice.

* * *

To say that Harry and Hermione were careful of their surroundings would be an understatement. Paranoid and extremely jumpy would better describe them nowadays, little over two weeks after the Quidditch accident that only the two of them and Poppy knew had been anything _but_ an accident after all. They had dreaded their D.A.D.A. and Potions classes, always ready to hit the floor if the professors started throwing killing curses at Harry.

Fortunately, after two lessons of each, Harry was still alive. Sure, Snape had attacked him with glares, sneers and various oh-so-helpful demeaning remarks at his potion making skills and continuous existence, but as it was he hadn't openly tried to kill him in any way.

Hermione had been astonished at first when, after leaving the infirmary and entering Gryffindor Tower, they found themselves in the middle of a full-swing party with fireworks and all. She had then become indignant when the Twins started hinting of a life-debt from Harry, but had turned outright angry when the two identical red-heads, Neville and Ron complained of _faulty_ broomsticks instead of a clear attempted murder, just as Poppy had predicted.

With that first-hand experience of Voldemort's power in mind, both kids had been spending even more time together, in the apparent privacy of the tower roof, as they were today. The winds were strong and several puffy, heavy clouds travelled the skies at a run, chasing each other and occasionally merging together to create a whole new shape, like idle thoughts when given free-reign inside one's mind.

They sat watching the sunrise, huddled together under red and gold comforters, enjoying the chocolate-frogs that Harry had purchased from an older Gryffindor. He had been given a discount for being The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Win-His-First-Quidditch-Game, which had been a somewhat happy note to a disastrous day.

"So, we now have the legend of the Phoenix Dome, or Domus Aurea that the Romans pillaged from Heliopolis, where it was called the Phoinix Tholos, and is believed to give immortality to any living creature inside," she paused to bite a chocolate leg, "and there's the similar myth of primeval seedlings from many different cultures around the world; the Tree of Life, the Tree of Death that's similar to what Master Liszt's portrait explained, and the Tree of Knowledge. I also found references to magically important horses--"

"Ha!" interrupted Harry before taking another bite of his chocolate.

"Honestly! Hogwarts: A History wasn't _wrong_, the book just happens to be very limited in regards to magical beasts of significance," said Hermione, but the smile dancing on her lips betrayed her supposedly stern reply.

Harry's smug grin as he said "If you say so" made them laugh for a while, but then his mood flip-flopped again. She was no longer surprised by the sudden changes, coming to expect them although in all honesty she had a hard time dealing with them. Not to mention the odd wisps of light she could still feel dancing inside her eyes and making her dizzy whenever Harry was angry, happy or simply bored to the extreme. They had been fading day by day, and would eventually disappear according to Madame Pomfrey, but it was annoying all the same.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Looking far away over the Forbidden Forest, he remained silent but ran his left hand softly on the back of his friend's neck, under the mane of brown hair. He enjoyed doing that, it was a thrilling new sensation he had discovered four mornings ago and he hoped she would never tire of him repeating the caress. He'd never touched anyone willingly like this, expressing something in another language that wasn't speech or music, rather that of human touch. Was it wrong of him to want to touch her like this every morning of his life? He really shouldn't have such wishful thoughts, since nothing ever came out of wishing, in his experience.

"Not only that," thought Harry, "but now there's a couple of teachers wanting me dead, one of them is Voldemort of all people!" No, he would enjoy this friendship with Hermione as it is, living the moment and not worrying about a future that he might never have.

"What we need is a way to spy on Snape and Quirrell. Nobody believes a freak, after all..."

Hermione stiffened and grabbed hold of the hand running behind her neck, looking straight at him. "Don't say that! _You_ told me never to call myself a freak, and the same goes for you too!" She paused for a few seconds and remembered something she had found scandalous at the time; a proposition by a certain pair of identical red-heads. "Harry? I think I know how to solve our needs."

"Okay."

"Aren't you going to ask me how?" she asked with a frown.

"Maybe later... Damn it Hermione, I can't let Voldemort kill me, 'cause once he's done it he'll kill everyone else in this bloody school!" he blurted and then pulled his hand from Hermione's grip, using it to tussle his own already messy hair.

"Language, Harry!" she blurted out of reflex, before wincing and sighing. "Sorry... You know how I hate people swearing."

"What if Mrs Pomfrey's ritual stuff fails? What if _you_ fall ill again because of it?" he asked, ignoring her nagging and absently rubbing the spot Madame Pomfrey had used to extract a willingly given scallop of flesh. It had been Hermione's idea to use "the only available fleshy spot he has", as she had so casually said. His left cheek. His _lower_ left cheek, to be precise.

He had been furious because Voldemort was a Hogwarts professor and _nobody_ noticed. He remained furious because all that mattered to everyone was that Gryffindor had _won_ the match, never sparing some real concern or asking how he felt, even if they believed he had fallen because the broomstick charms had broken down. He would still be furious until Voldemort was behind bars or dead for murdering his and so many others' families, and his mood reflected it.

"The Halloween Feast is tomorrow evening, the Great Hall looks beautiful and Hagrid's pumpkins have been a hit. Doesn't it all help to keep your mind away from... Away from the constant anger, fear and worry?"

Shaking his head negatively, Harry spoke softly. "No, you don't understand... I hope you'll _never_ have to understand what it's like to live with fear and hate. It's what I've known for too long, and only my music keeps it away. My music and..."

"And?"

After a shrug, Harry remained silent but couldn't hide a blush that wasn't caused by the cold wind. He did return his hand to continue caressing Hermione's soft neck, however.

"I've lived in disappointment and longing, Harry. With the pain of knowing my family feared _me_ because of the oddness that happened around myself! It's not the same, I know, and I'll never pity you or compare our lives, but they wouldn't even _touch_ me, and it hurt to feel so... So hideously disgusting." She tilted her head to face him, "So you see, I still feel hideously disgusting, and that fear of constant rejection only goes away when I'm like this, cared for and safe with my friend Harry."

"Would you feel like that about me if your parents were alive? Or if we'd never met each other in London that day?" Harry asked, because he knew that meeting her had led him to finding the magic of music, and he truly had no idea if he would have been the same by the time his Hogwarts Letter came. "Would you still want to be my friend, if things were different?"

"The truth is I don't know, Harry. I would like to believe that yes, I would still be your friend. Closer, more distant? I can't tell, but _this_ is the life we have, and suppositions lead to living in dreams, and while having dreams is a good thing, I would hate to see you wasting yourself with doubts and impossible desires."

Harry laughed, hugged his friend and sat straighter on the shingled roof. "Thank you for being true Hermione. You know, if Headmaster Dumbledore was here, he'd be looking for his twin because that's almost the same thing he told me after He-Who-Has-Fiery-Feathers let me out of the Dome."

"Why do you name Fawkes like that?" she asked after a quick laugh.

Looking around himself, Harry bent sideways and whispered "Because I'm afraid he'll come and knock me out again if I say his name."

"Oh, Harry, that's ridiculous. You're doing the same thing wizards do regarding Voldemort!"

"Care to wager on that?" he said, pointing at their last Chocolate Frog.

"You're on!" she replied with a smile, looking expectantly at her raven-haired friend.

He cleared his throat, and then spoke. "I still don't know why Fawkes kidnapped me."

Faraway trilling and the sounds of the forest swaying under the wind filled the children's ears. They looked up and down, sideways and even over the edge of the roof, but the phoenix was nowhere to be seen. Harry looked disappointed, and after a minute or two conceded defeat. "I guess he'll visit sometime later..."

"How can you be sure Fawkes is male?" she asked after carefully unwrapping her chocolate, folding the greaseproof paper and wiping the included card of crumbs and smudges.

"Dunno... Just a feeling, like when he was so sad about something. Whatever it was, Dumbledore seemed to know a little about it too."

"Headmaster Dumbledore has one in seven chances of popping up in a Chocolate Frog, higher odds than any other wizard," she said absently, looking at the repeated collectable card. Hermione bit another leg and then choked, startling Harry.

He soothed her back and checked she could still breathe, before asking what the matter was.

"_Look!_" she said, pointing at the card on the comforter. "Read the description!"

"Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, so on and so on... Defeated Grindelwald and famous for finding the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel," he read in a monotone. "We already know all that, don't we?"

"Mostly, yes. But read about his work Harry. Alchemy!"

"So? I don't understand..." he said and read the card again, chuckling softly when the photographed Dumbledore bent forward to read his own description as well.

"What's the alchemical textbook we use here at Hogwarts?" she paused and waited for the expected answer.

"There isn't one, is there? I mean we don't have an Alchemy Class... Do we? Have I been missing classes?!"

"Exactly! And no, Harry, you haven't been missing any classes. It's a lost art, even for magical people... Hold on a second. Flamel, flames... Fire, Fawkes? Phoenix... Fiendfyre!" she spouted, verbalizing random connections from inside her mind. "Harry, let's assume you're right about the professors intent to enter the trapdoor Fluffy is guarding. That being the case, they wanted to do it unnoticed, otherwise they would have just disposed of him, but according to Hagrid he's in good form but then stayed mum about it, meaning his furry three-headed pup is still guarding something that relates to Mr Flamel."

Nodding, Harry waved for her to continue with her thoughts.

"However, Fawkes _is_ a creature of fire himself, couldn't it be that he's another guardian, and that _he_ is the one that actually harmed Voldemort and his accomplice as they were looking for whatever alchemical secret is stored down there, and had to come up with an explanation to their injuries? Furthermore, could Fawkes be asking you to help in some way, by showing you all those places he brought you to?"

"Me? What help could I do, Hermione, I'm just a kid!"

"You could _be_ much help, don't put yourself down. All you need is the will, the desire to be helpful and to--"

Her words were interrupted by an erupting ball of fire above them. The flames materialized into a majestic red bird, that flapped its wings a couple of times before using one to whack Harry on the back the head.

"Ouch! What was that for?" he asked, thankful that he didn't pass out this time. Harry eyed the bird as it landed on the roof shingles and observed Hermione. Fawkes looked unsettled, anxious if he could put it in human terms, and craned his neck to watch them one at a time, back and forth repeatedly.

"Fawkes? Are you... Can I?" asked Hermione, lifting a hand to pet him, but stopping a few inches away.

The phoenix perked up and puffed himself, presenting his chest to be stroked, and she was moving to do so when Kettle dove straight down towards her in a blur of black feathers. His unmistakeable caws sounded challenging, but it was his attitude that confirmed he wasn't about to let Hermione touch the larger bird, as the raven used its shark beak to nip at her hand.

"Kettle, no! No biting!" she told the avian familiar and sucked her bleeding index finger. The large raven flew to her shoulder, cawed again and reached for her wounded hand, this time lightly grabbing hold of it and pulling the finger out of her mouth. Resisting at first but relenting after looking deeply into the bird's coal-black eyes, she let Kettle bite again, drawing more blood droplets, and gasped when he offered her finger to the fiery phoenix.

"What's happening, Harry? This isn't normal bird behaviour," whispered Hermione, awed by the actions of her familiar.

"Magic," was his simple answer, followed with a shrug. "I had to give a scallop of my ass, why wouldn't you give some blood besides that scrape of a tooth for Halloween?"

"Harry! How rude," she said but couldn't stop a laugh from escaping her lungs. "Kettle, are you a true raven or... Or something else altogether?"

The raven cawed and pulled with more strength, leading the unresisting hand towards the phoenix, who seemed to be just as confused as the two human children. The avians looked at each other and screeched, flapping their wings and showing menacing wide-open beaks; a tongue of fire burst from Fawkes' mouth and Kettle had to drop Hermione's finger, flying in a circle to sidestep the golden flames, finally retaliating by picking a loose morsel of broken tile and throwing it back at the larger bird with a swing of his head.

The sharp fragment hit Fawkes squarely in the eye, and he suddenly became as terrifying as he was gorgeous, ruffling fire-coated feathers and sparkling like a dozen suns, seeming to grow in size and presence. Harry and Hermione crawled back from the impending fight but Kettle did a double-loop and bit his companion's finger again in mid-flight, just as another, more powerful tongue of fire was aimed at him.

With no time to react and jump out of the way, the children watched helplessly as the magical fire wrapped itself on Hermione's hand, swirling up to her bleeding index and exploding brightly. They closed their eyes and felt only the sound of a pebble hitting the shingles, rolling down, followed by the rustle of feathers and a repentant trilling.

It was Harry who opened one eyelid first, immediately grabbing his friend's hand to see the damage, only to be shooed away by Fawkes, who leaned his head with the eye Kettle had hit towards her blistered, charred hand.

Two drops of tears later, her hand was healed, looking as if it had never been burnt.

"What the hell were you two thinking!" Harry yelled and waved the birds away. He turned Hermione's fingers upside down and back again, looking for damage.

"It's-- It's all right, Harry, It didn't hurt at all..."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't we go see Pomfrey?"

"Yes... Yes, the pain never came..." she trailed off as Kettle leaned forward and presented her with a bright gemstone that seemed to shine from a fire contained within. Hermione held her palm up and the raven dropped a ruby the size of a walnut, speckled with golden lightning that kept flashing inside. "What? What is this? What are you? What are you doing to us?"

The birds began singing and cawing at the same time, which annoyed them again and restarted their row, but Harry's well placed swats with the rolled-up edge of a comforter put an end to it. "Stop it! You'll only hurt Hermione again!"

"Harry, stop talking to them as if they were people! Those are _birds_ for crying out loud!"

Snorting, he turned to face her. "Yeah, right. Birds that can make a jewel out of your blood, birds that can take me places nobody knows and sing with as much emotion as the greatest masters poured on their music," Harry spoke. "Just a bird that came to you when... When you'd been left f-for dead under the rubble and has been around ever since you can remember. Can't you see the magic that's right in front of you?"

She bit her lower lip and looked down at the gemstone on her hand, then at the pair of magical creatures that were still flapping and screeching softly at each other, bickering like an old married couple, and finally back at Harry. "But there's _nothing_ written about this in the books I've--"

"Oh, for God's sake Hermione! Why must everything about the world be in a book?" he said and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Maybe you just gotta have the courage to believe! To have faith in something that's never been seen, written or thought by anyone, anywhere!"

"I-- I don't... I don't have faith, Harry. I've got reasoning, cause and consequence, the proof of a postulate by logic or contradiction, or empirical evidence and deductive reasoning. I _can't_ have blind faith!"

"Open your hand."

"What?"

"_Open_ your hand!" said Harry again, forcefully this time.

She did, and stared again at the gemstone. Harry then pushed her fingers closed around it, only to pull them back. He did it again, and again, and a third time until she began to accept that her familiar was more than met the eye, and that the headmaster's phoenix had just been conned into creating something magical out of her blood.

Hermione looked at her green-eyes' resolute face, into his determined and pleading eyes. "I understand, and I accept magic's unpredictability, and that desire, intent and belief are as big a part of casting a spell as waving the wand and saying the words. However, please, please don't ask me to have faith like you do, I lost that ability a long time ago."

Suddenly, Harry understood what she was talking about. "You're my guardian angel, my Potterette, and I _know_ that there's a God 'cause you're _real_. But I don't care if you believe or don't believe, as long as you're the good and kind person you are."

Tearing, she spoke softly in a broken voice. "Thank you. Thanks for being real too, my green-eyes..."

* * *

At noon time the children were already enjoying the festive mood of the evening's event, and it held the promise of even greater fun and joy for the evening, although only fourth-years and older had a ball to look forward to as well. Hagrid's pumpkins were everywhere, carved with ghoulish faces, gilded with silver ribbons and floating on clouds of grey smoke up and down the hallways. Bats and black cats added to the decoration, and every student had been delighted to see Mrs Norris being chased by a flock of long-toothed bats, while Mr Filch waved a mop at them, protecting his greatest ally in the quest to end youthful mischief.

Hermione and Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Neville attacking the food in front of them, flanked by the ever-giggling duo of Parvati and Lavender, with Seamus and Dean sharing unbelievable stories on the other side. They dodged a swooping pumpkin while Ron made them laugh with his wizarding tales of All Hallows Eve, but it was Neville's horror story of learning to dance with his grandmother and his grandmother's lady-friends that made them hold on to their bellies with laughter.

"And then Mrs Blufbuxom, she's the only living witch from the Maidens of Mercury, she'd pinch my face and call me Jonathan while swinging me around the drawing room, with my face pressed against her chest," he said while making a horrified face.

Neville had been fast becoming more open and self-assured, though no less forgetful and clumsy, not to mention below-average in spell-casting, and it was all because Hermione and Harry always laughed _with_ him instead of _at_ him, and would help the youngest Longbottom using their unusual approach to magic whenever he had difficulty learning something.

When the laughs subsided, Ron shuddered. "Have you ever heard 'bout my Aunt Muriel Prewett?" At the negative head shaking, he took a deep breath, "She's like Snape and Filch mixed into one, with a little of my mum's worse temper added to the cauldron. _That's_ a true Hallows nightmare if you know--"

Ron's staring and unexpected pause made the other three follow his eyes, landing on Hermione's neck. At first she tried to put the collar of her witch robes up to cover her scar, but then Harry pointed at the magical jewel Kettle had tricked Fawkes to create. Harry had had the idea to use one of his goblin weaved ropes made of hag's hair to wrap the organically faceted gem, so that Hermione could wear it like a pendant.

The lightning inside never stopped flashing, and while it gave a mesmerizing golden glow to the ruby-red gem, it also made concealing it that much more difficult. As exemplified by Ron's actions.

"Is that some useless Muggle trinket?" he asked, pointing at Hermione.

"Er... No Ron, it isn't. And Muggle items aren't useless if you actually _know_ what to use them for!"

"All right, whatever," he said after gulping some pumpkin juice. "Sorry I asked."

His easy dismissal was both annoying and relieving. Annoying because, once again, Hermione couldn't understand his behaviour and his beliefs, and her skin itched for closure in each and every argument in which Ron Weasley had simply dismissed or changed the subject, never allowing her to fully settle the discussion. As for Harry, he was happy whenever conflict could be avoided, and happier still to see that their friend wouldn't ask them to explain where the gemstone came from. "I wonder if Headmaster Dumbledore saw it," he thought inside his head, looking at the Staff Table and immediately regretting it.

"Look at him, Voldemort sitting there like a normal teacher. And nobody suspects a thing!"

Hermione elbowed him to stop the upcoming rant. "It's like I suspected, magicals expect honourable conduct from their peers precisely because of how powerful it can be. He performed a single act of magic and, _poof!_ No one's the wiser about the attempt on your life!"

"Yeah, even Cedric forgot about it," he waved at the mentioned older boy as he looked from the Hufflepuff table. "He did promise to talk to his dad about renewing the faulty broomsticks, though."

"Well, I intend to change them all, not just the oldest ones, _and_ add a few more physical sports. And more electives! I must say Hogwarts is seriously in need of more active clubs beyond Gobstones, the Choir and now your Musical Arts. It might sound like nepotism to benefit my own school, but it's not like there are other magic schools in the country..." she trailed off with an inquisitive look on her face. "Ron? What do people who can't afford to come to Hogwarts do?"

"I don't understand what you're asking. If you get an Invitation Letter, then you're coming to Hogwarts, it's a simple as that."

"But what if I couldn't pay the tuition?"

"Then you wouldn't have received the letter at all," Neville answered this time, starting to realize where she was getting at. "And it can be because, like me, your magic is too weak--"

"But Neville, I told before--"

"Look, Harry, I'm happy that you talk to me and make me feel better and all, but I know what I am... As I was saying, if you're a Squib, or your magic is simply too weak, then Hogwarts will not write to you. And if you don't have the gold to pay for it, it won't either."

Talking slowly, Hermione turned to face the pudgy boy. "Hogwarts. Hogwarts, the castle, writes the letter?"

"Of course not," Parvati said, entering the conversation while nodding and talking back to Lavender. How she could keep an ear on many conversations at once was a mystery to Harry. "He speaks of Hogwarts metaphorically, it's actually The Quill that writes the letters."

"A quill?"

"No, no, _The_ Quill," Neville said, making a grand gesture with his hands.

"What are you talking about?" asked Ron, who apparently had never heard of this The Quill.

"My great-uncle spoke of these items once. The Book, The Hat and The Quill. I didn't know The Hat was the thing that sorted us into different Houses."

"Why isn't any of that in Hogwarts: A History?!" Hermione complained after blinking several times in silence, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is just like Schroedinger's Cat, only worse because every time you look at it, it's a whole different breed of living-dead cat!"

Apparently speaking of the living-dead on Halloween was a very wrong thing to say, as the Gryffindor table went silent for a few of seconds, before excited whisperings and finger-pointing replaced the festive air that had been there just seconds ago. Hermione shrank into her place while hastily building a line of defence made of goblets, a pitcher of juice and a pair of salad bowls.

"Hermione, please stop hiding behind the food," said Harry, moving some plates away. He had to physically wrench one of the salad bowls from her hands, which unsurprisingly took a lot of effort from him. His friend had built a strong body after so many years of roof-roaming and climbing.

"Would you listen to them? They all think I'm some kind of dark-magic practitioner or something just as loathsome!"

"Having a black raven and that slimy snake as familiars won't help your reputation much either," Lavender whispered, as if sharing the world's greatest secret and nodding emphatically.

"How can you say--"

"Oookay, Lavender, thanks for the hint," interrupted Harry, hoping to distract Hermione before she chewed the blonde's head out. "Now I think we'd better... Er... Take a walk around the lake?"

She turned to face him with a frown but he whispered "remember, we can't eat anything 'til the whole show-bat ritual is done" in her ear.

"I do remember, Harry. And it's a _Sabbath_ gathering, not show-bat!" she mumbled back while looking longingly at the perfect chicken wing peeking from under a couple of drumsticks, settling for savouring the aroma with a deep sniff as consolation.

Shrugging, he pulled her by the hand and waved at Neville and Ron, who immediately began whispering together before being assaulted with questions by Hermione and Harry's room-mates and not a few older Gryffindors.

As they walked down the marble steps of the main doors, the black-haired boy looked curiously at his brown-eyed friend. She smiled and spoke before he could utter a single word. "Imagine a kneazle, locked in a chest, where there's a runic stone and a lethal potion inside. The potion flask is charmed to break if the runestone creates warmth, but because of the way it's carved and magicked, it can also give cold."

She watched his eyes move up and to the right, and then he nodded for her to go on. "So you can never really know whether the kneazle is alive, or dead, because you can't know if the runestone created cold or warmth until you open the chest and verify it yourself. Before that direct observation, the kneazle is believed to be both in a state of life _and_ death at the same time."

"Huh... You mean the kneazle is a zombie, then? I don't get it. And my head hurts," Harry said, massaging his temples.

"No, what this tries to explain is why certain runic configurations can give different results when they're exactly the same. It's also known as the Principle of Uncertainty in Muggle sciences dealing with quantum mechanics. The math is beyond me at this point, but the ideas are quite straightforward," she said and bounced a little on her feet.

Without really noticing, the couple veered towards the Owlery using the scenic path, harder to climb but one that provided a beautiful view of the Forbidden Forest. They shared a laugh when a gust of wind blew Hermione's hat out of her head and downhill, and Harry being a gentleman had tried to run after it, only to slip on a wet patch of grass and land on top of the hat, squashing the black pointed accessory with his body.

Red-faced, he apologized profusely and quickly cast a quick Reparo charm on the hat, before placing it back on Hermione. She thanked him with a quick kiss to the cheek and walked ahead, leaving Harry to deal with his feelings, some unknown but all of them made him feel good inside.

Entering the Owlery, Hermione paused. "I was under the impression that our headmaster had hidden the Dome?"

"Yes, he did. Why?"

"Because it's right there in plain sight, Harry," she answered a bit miffed at his lack of observation skills. It was a very big wooden cage, clearly impossible to miss.

"No it isn't," he said, looking around the owl habitat. "Truth is I can feel it in a way, but I can't really see it."

Distressed, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, wondering why she could see the wonderfully carved and adorned phoenix habitat but her friend couldn't.

"Wow!" he exclaimed and pulled his arm away. "Do it again, take my hand this time."

Raising an eyebrow, she agreed and took his hand in hers, making him smile. "You can see it now?"

"Yeah! But why..."

"The stone!" they said together, and she promptly pulled the fiery gem from her neck, laying it gently on the ground. As soon as she let go of it, the Dome vanished for her, but Harry could still feel its presence somehow.

"All right, I guess your raven really did trick Fawkes into giving you something wonderful," he said softly, looking at the doorway.

Snorting, Hermione bent over to pick the jewel and placed it back on herself. "I wouldn't call Kettle _my_ raven. In fact, if he's so intelligent as you believe him and Fawkes to be, he probably has a name of his own! Not to mention the freedom to be an equal to us, as all sentient beings are."

"You still don't believe it?"

"Yes, Harry. I believe you were... You _are_ right about them." She sighed and sat on an old wooden chair, leaving just enough room for Harry to sit as well. "It takes a lot of effort from me to admit to someone being right. No, not because I'm stubborn," she added at his look. "It's because it means that I have misunderstood something, or that I simply don't know enough about a subject where I've been proven wrong."

"I don't mind not knowing stuff. It's embarrassing, sure, but it don't upset me."

She sighed and leaned her head against his. "I know, and that's one more thing I like about you. Though I really feel my skin itch when you speak so badly. The correct form is _it doesn't_."

Chuckling, Harry said thanks and looked up for his snowy-owl Hedwig. He found her atop a beam, one eye open above a curled wing, half asleep. A smile tugged his mouth and the owl sprung up, gliding softly to land on his knee, hooting and barking in greeting.

"Oh, honestly! You're turning into Dr Dolittle!" She had to regain her breath after laughing, "And-- And someday you can open the Potter Magical Clinic for Fantastic Beasts and Familiars!"

Not knowing who this Doctor Dolittle was, but enjoying his friend's happiness, he actually agreed with her and told her he would seriously consider that idea, making her laugh again. The mood was broken, however, as a drawling voice alerted them of another person inside the owlery.

"Such undignified, yet oddly fitting behaviour for a simpleton Muggle-born and her arrogant, troublesome leader."

The children jumped and raised wands as one, only to have them pulled out of their hands with the flick of Professor Snape's own wand.

"How _dare_ you level your wands at me!" he said and took a few steps forward, looming over Harry and Hermione. "I will have you both scrubbing grime off the dungeon walls until All Hallows Eve is _over_. Yes, no sweet treats and fun games for either of you tonight, and ten points each from Gryffindor for threatening a member of the staff!"

They watched the Potions Master regard the children's wands in his hand with disdain and pocket them inside his black robes, taking another step towards the couple as Harry moved fast and hid Hermione behind his back. "Stay away from her, murderer!"

His words seemed to throw the man back, as if slapped in the face, but it was the timely appearance of a group of students looking for their owls that saved them.

"Oh, g-good afternoon Professor Snape," one of them said, stammering a bit. The rest winced and shirted away from the wizard, trying to walk back outside unnoticed.

"_Out!_" Snape yelled and the group of Ravenclaws ran away. "You two, my office in fifteen minutes if you ever want to complete your feeble attempts at educating your minds in Hogwarts." That said, the professor turned and left, billowing robes on his wake.

Harry turned immediately to care for Hermione, finding her white as a ghost and babbling something under her breath. "He didn't kill us! He didn't kill us!"

"And he won't, I'm not gonna let him." He forced her face to look at him with both hands, trying to get her eyes to focus on his own. "No one's gonna hurt anyone in the castle, not while I'm here."

"We. Not while _we_ are here," she told him, snapping out of her panic. "He could have done the deed just now, but the fact we're alive means he hasn't yet obtained whatever treasure is hidden in the castle, and that Voldemort isn't going to risk facing Headmaster Dumbledore and his entire staff of powerful witches and wizards by killing you in Hogwarts proper."

Thinking that it made sense, Harry agreed and released her face. "Then we'll play along, be there for detention and watch our backs, while looking for any clues to what he's planning, right?"

"Exactly!"

Ten minutes later, dressed in their most comfortable clothes underneath Hogwarts cloaks, packing a first-aid kit and two pairs of winter gloves she had, Hermione and Harry walked determined down towards the dungeons, ready to face a madman with their bare hands if need be.

They paused before the Potions classroom, pushed the door and headed for the smaller door that should connect to the Head of Slytherin's office. The room where they learned to properly create potions of all kinds was regularly dark and damp, but at this moment it looked downright frightening, with a single torch lit on a corner and the empty tables pressed together against a wall.

Knocking twice, a silky, grave voice answered back. "Enter."

Harry pushed the handle down, slowly pressing his shoulder against the heavy, screeching door, expecting the tip of a wand against his face. Or a pillow, as Hermione had jokingly said once.

"Fortune, is arranging matters for us better than we could have hoped. Look there, friend, where thirty or more monstrous giants rise up, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes. For this is righteous warfare, and it is God's good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth," their evil foe recited, eyelids closed at first, only to stare at them with the cold, bottomless pits he called eyes.

The well-read brunette gasped at the reference and joined Harry's side in front of the professor's desk.

"Beware of what giants you chase, dunderheads, lest real monsters slay you on your backs," Professor Snape drawled, before motioning a hand to a pair of buckets and brushes. "Third lowest dungeon. I _will_ know if you slack, or if you try to leave."

Keeping a dignified haste, the young Gryffindors picked the cleaning equipment and left, closing the door and leaving the classroom, before sprinting away at a run. They didn't stop until there were no further stairs leading to any lower levels, and bent over trying to regain their breath.

"What was... That all... About?" Harry asked. "Did he... Threaten us... Or something?"

"I don't really know... Why would Voldemort quote Cervantes, of all people?"

"Who?"

"Muggle author from the late sixteenth century in Spain, his most famous work being the misadventures of Don Quixote. It's just that the quote he chose and his comments were... Well, it could mean we're chasing ghosts. Or that he'll strike when we least expect him to," she added as an afterthought.

"Whatever... Let's just start attacking the grime. I'm sorry I made you miss your first Halloween at Hogwarts," he said softly.

"Never mind that, it isn't going to be the only feast we'll ever have a chance to enjoy. Now, gloves on, and scrub away!"

Harry had been eyeing Hermione for the past hour or so, not really knowing if she was imagining Voldemort's face on each and every stone she rubbed fiercely with the hand brush, or his own for getting her detention, again. "She pulled her wand at the overgrown bat as well," he told himself, trying to feel less guilty. It didn't work, of course.

After hearing him sighing again over the sounds of scrubbing, as he had for the last half hour, Hermione had enough. "Harry, I pulled my wand on Voldemort's Potions Professor disguise as well, please quit blaming yourself. That goes for the ritual as well, you know very well that Madame Pomfrey is a Healer, and as such is bound by a magical oath to never do harm."

Startled, he looked at her while stretching. "How d'you always know what I'm thinking?"

"Not always, only when it's painfully obvious," she replied with a cheeky grin, before turning serious. "Do you think they've begun?"

* * *

Elsewhere, under the waning shadows of a stone circle built upon a node of magical lines directly connected to Hogwarts, a cloaked witch giggled softly to herself. Some tendrils of dark hair escaped the raised hood, and pink dragon hide boots peeked from under the golden garment covering the rest of her with every step she took.

"_Then rise, beloved, twirl forth! Dance forth! And bewilder your lover_," she sang, then giggled again while conjuring more flower bouquets.

"Marigold! It's been too long," greeted another witch that appeared out of thin air with a popping sound.

"Poppea, thank you so much for calling a Sabbath! I'm already having fun," the first witch said, hugging the white-cloaked newcomer.

"I do have an ulterior motive, I'm afraid..."

"Don't we all, my dear friend?" Marigold asked, receiving only a hesitant nod as a reply.

"When do we start?"

"As the first star shines."

"How do we start?"

"With the joy of our hearts."

"Where do we start?"

"In the Temple of our Mothers."

"What do we start?"

"The Witches' Sabbath!" both witches screamed and laughed a high-pitched cackle.

* * *

Back inside Hogwarts, very deep in the dungeons, Harry pondered Hermione's question. "No, but then again it's not like we'd feel anything according to Poppy."

"Oh, well. Back to back-breaking scrubbing then."

"We should learn how to do that whole fireballing thing that phoenixes do," he commented off-handedly after a few minutes of silent work.

She laughed softly. "Only you, Harry. All your interest in learning comes from extra-curricular activities, while regular lessons are barely appealing to you."

"You can't deny it's helped, I'm more of a wizard after you taught me to _feel_ the magic. And that trinket of yours is so cool when we make it do sound and lights!"

"A show! Our magical results turn strangely overpowered and more refined when the puzzle is present, but all you care about is the pretty show!" she complained and threw her hands in the air.

* * *

"Florence! Welcome to Samhain Night."

"Abigail, Morgana, how fares life, you old witches? Poppea, darling!"

"Have you seen Marigold? She was singing around here just a second ago," yet another cloaked witch asked.

"No, I have not. Here," the newcomer said and produced a trunk from somewhere under her green cloak. "No Sabbath can be performed without these."

Poppea Pomfrey opened the top of the trunk only a crack, enough to peek inside and closed it quickly. "Thank you Flo, may the Mothers repay your kindness score-fold."

Another round of cracks and pops alerted to the arrival of more cloaked people, all witches by the tone of their voices and the eager greetings that included yelling and hugging. They all wore their hoods up, in all colours of the rainbow, and shades of each.

As the caller of the Sabbath, Madame Pomfrey had assumed the role of White Witch, and the responsibilities that came with the title until the next gathering is called for. The last White Witch had been Marigold Flowers herself, fourteen years ago, and she had done a remarkable job. Yes, it had been too long indeed.

"Sisters! Sisters all, come forth and gather 'round," she said with a magically amplified voice. "Thank you for answering the call. The first star is yet to shine and more witches may find their way to us, however I want to offer Marigold a heartfelt applause for her wonderfully orchestrated Sabbath of seventy-seven."

The witch under the gold cloak stepped forward and bowed under the applause, stepping back after a moment to let the White Witch continue. Two more Apparition bursts announced latecomers, who were fast greeted with hugs and shrieks, before Madame Pomfrey could speak.

"To those whose husband, or husbands," she paused for the giggling, "fellow wives and partners of all kinds," she paused again for the cat-calls and general teasing, "have graciously allowed their beloveds to gather in Sabbath, please give them our thanks. The Arch of the Waters is glowing, and while we prepare for Samhain, let me tell you all, under the secrecy of our Mothers' powers, the story of a little orphan boy as I know it."

* * *

Harry had paused his scrubbing suddenly, letting the filthy water slide through the moss covered cracks and joints of ancient stone. He felt as if somebody had suddenly walked over his grave, that feeling that someone or some_thing_ has taken a great interest in him, making him shudder.

As they were the only living people in the dungeon, Hermione noticed and sided up to him, pulling damp hair from her face. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Dunno, it's like... Like something is going to happen?" He shook his head. "Has happened, _is_ happening... Argh! I can't think while doing damned castle cleaning under damn Voldemort's orders!" he yelled, throwing the brush at the wall and kicking the bucket with his right foot.

"Enough! I don't care how angry you are, it's no excuse to lose your temper like this." She let her own brush fall to the floor and held on to him, although he immediately struggled to break free.

"Let go! You're not my _mother_ to tell me what to do!"

"That's true, Harry," she said in his ear. "I'll never be your mother, but who else is going to tell you off for letting anger and hate consume you?"

"What about revenge, then? What about wanting that murderer upstairs dead or behind bars for life?" replied Harry, resigning himself to be held tight. "Is it so wrong to wish him to pay for it all?"

"Revenge is a difficult thing. Do you wish to return to your relatives' house this Summer and curse them into oblivion, intentionally harming or killing them? Or does your heart tell you that you can do what's right, and bring justice to your home?"

"That place isn't my home, it'll _never_ be home for me ever again," he spat at her, unconsciously running a hand behind her neck. "But wouldn't it be justice to have Petunia Dorothea trying to clean an ever-dirty charmed kitchen, or Dudleykins being swallowed by the fridge whenever he grabbed some food?"

Hermione chuckled at the ideas, but wouldn't let his joking distract her from the seriousness of the situation. Her friend had been wronged too much, and coupled with his temper, it could make him fall into the darkest paths of life. "That's retribution, Harry. Not justice."

"Then... Then I don't know what to do..."

* * *

"You mean to say there's a killer at Hogwarts?! I have great-grandchildren there!" exclaimed an agitated red-cloaked witch.

"I'm sorry, Poppy, but it just sounds so... So far-fetched," Florence, who wore a blue cloak, said while pacing around conjured chairs, sofas and chaise-longs.

"We are in the Temple of our Mothers, Flo. I speak the truth!"

"Albus Dumbledore may be many things, but he's as knowledgeable as he is trusting. If there were doubts about young Potter's soul, who are we to question it?"

"And what of this foolish girl? Drinking another's blood is bad enough, but the magical effects you described are unheard of!"

The ninth of thirteen arches began to glow and soon the gathering would start in earnest, but the Chief Healer had to reach an agreement before it happened in order to perform the ritual. "A mother's sacrifice can be powerful enough," she said and raised a sleeved arm to forestall the obvious observation. "I am aware of the fact that hundreds of mothers have died for their children, but how many of them were personally attacked by You-Know-Who? How many had the thirst for learning that Lily Potter had? How many have born a child by magic, not by flesh?"

An elderly voice coming from under a brown, ragged cloak broke the absolute silence after a moment. "Remember, what passes at Sabbath, stays within Sabbath. Now what is this riddle of words you weave, young Poppea?"

"The baby left the mother's womb of its own volition, in a flux of magic instead of pushing its way to the world in a river of blood. This is a secret I've kept for eleven years, and a sign that might explain his defeat of the Dark Lord, and the reason Harry hasn't been overwhelmed by the ever growing sentient magic infecting him."

"And what, pray tell, says the old codger to all of this?" a bitter voice spoke from the edge of the gathered group. "Or is he so blinded by possibilities that he's forgotten to look at the obvious reality?"

"As you've heard, Albus asked us all to keep distance from the boy, and would still have him isolated if Harry hadn't been sought after by the headmaster's phoenix."

She believed it best not to reveal that the Phoenix Dome had reappeared after so many centuries or it would create a veritable pilgrimage of wizards and witches looking for big and small favours, be it a cure to some yet to be defeated illness or eternal life by entering its fabled flames.

As the twelfth arch glowed, Madame Pomfrey knew she needed to reach an agreement or wait until next year, leaving Harry to protect himself alone. With a heavy sigh, she raised her arms again to speak, but an unexpected newcomer interrupted her first.

* * *

A mere minute earlier, back in the damp, grimy dungeons of a magical school, Harry could be seen trying to put his thoughts in order with Hermione's help. He knew he didn't want to become a violent bully like Dudley and his father were, but he wanted the satisfaction of watching them understand how wrong it was to make him hate his own parents, to treat him as if he was the cause of everything bad in their lives. Harry wanted to see them ashamed of all the lies he had been told.

"I believe justice is all about balance, Harry. Killing a man for stealing an apple is just as wrong as killing him because of the way he dresses, or for the colour of his skin. Conversely, that means the other way around by the way, it's also wrong to let a murder go unpunished, when it's done out of malice and ill-intent," she said, explaining her beliefs and hoping her friend would understand that, although no system is perfect, it must be a society as a whole that administers justice, not the individual.

"But Hermione, what if there's nobody to do the punishing? Look at what's going on here in school, that man could be killing someone right now!"

"That's why we need proof of _who_ he is and _what_ he's looking after. Then we can warn Headmaster Dumbledore and he'll take it from there." She scrunched her nose for a while and added, "Perhaps we should send the information to the Ministry somehow. But then again, adults only see what they want to see, and wouldn't really believe a couple of Hogwarts first-years..."

"We're so screwed," Harry mumbled dejectedly, however he yelped and ducked to the floor when an already familiar burst of red flames flashed above his head.

Fawkes flapped a couple of times on the air, trilled a melody that made him sound amused and landed on the boy's back, taking a glance at Hermione before vanishing in the same manner in which he appeared, taking Harry with him.

"Argh! That boy's going to be the death of me!" she complained and threw her filthy brush into the even filthier bucket of water.

* * *

The White Witch looked in surprise as a ball of fire turned into a red and gold phoenix holding a small boy in the middle of the circle. She recognized Fawkes immediately, and frowned when the magical creature let go of Harry, letting him fall flat on the ground.

Groaning, the boy turned on his back and looked around, finding himself surrounded by cloaked people peering down at him, some pointing and others snickering. He identified most if not all voices as female, and his acute hearing allowed him to understand the women.

"Look how cute he is," one of them said, while another took notice of how dirty he was. "In my time he would have been given detention!"

He propped himself up on his elbows, greeting the crowd. "Er... Hello?" he said with a feeble wave of his gloved hand.

"Good evening Mr Potter. What are you doing here?"

"That's a question for the mad firebird over here," he said, jerking a thumb at the phoenix on his shoulder, only to receive a slap on the back of the head from the mentioned mad bird. Harry rubbed the sore spot and looked around again, "Where am I?"

"At the Temple, young Potter. I am Morgana, daughter of Callisto the Charming. How do you feel?"

"All right, I guess. I'd really better be going back, Hermione must be freaking out by now," he said looking at Fawkes.

"Do you not want to be granted your fondest wish? Finding the Temple of our Mothers does grant men rewards beyond imagination," another cloaked woman said.

"I can make a wish?" he asked, standing up but still having to look up at most of the witches. "Any kind of wish?"

"Yes, make a wish!"

"Show us your desire!"

"Give us your wants!"

"Bring us your dreams!"

Harry spun on his feet as the witches shouted, demanding him to state his wish, to show them what he wanted most. With a shrug, he looked at the one who called herself Morgana again. "I wish to be sent back to my friend at Hogwarts."

The last he heard before vanishing in flames was the cackle of the crazy cloaked ladies.

* * *

Hermione sat on an overturned bucket, chin propped on her left hand while counting stones on the wall. She felt her friend's presence and watched as the fireball turned into a phoenix and a scrawny boy, who looked back at her with a bewildered face.

"That was the weirdest group of people I've ever seen," he said and picked the brush, going back to cleaning the walls.

* * *

After a while, the laughter faded and Madame Pomfrey looked at the gathered with a smug smile. "Is he worthy of our efforts?"

"_Aye!_" said dozens of voices together, as the thirteenth arch exploded in light, signalling the first star had begun to shine on the firmament.

Witches began running up and down the circle, conjuring things out of thin air, transfiguring rocks and twigs into ornate tables and colourful tablecloths. Trunks were opened and charms applied to cool the Butterbeer and warm the Firewhiskey for after the ritual, while other witches started Apparating to and fro, fetching instruments, decks of cards and other games, or this and that for the protection ritual the White Witch had begun to prepare.

First she slashed her palm to draw a heptagram on the ground, surrounding the seven-pointed star with a runic circle and derivative geometric figures, also inscribed with runes, that touched each and every arch of the Temple. After the magical tapestry was finished, she began chanting and blessing the tokens for each point, wondering if she could find even stronger anchors but knowing that to wait another year would be too risky.

"_This token of goodness, this piece of love, this morsel of devotion. My all to you I give, your all to me you offer, our all to us shall come,_" she sang and waved her wand. "_I am the wielder, I am the executioner, I am the messenger._"

"_This example of darkness, this taste of evil, this sample of temptation. My all to you I give, your all to me you offer, our all to us shall come. I am the healer, I am the culprit, I am the mage._"

As she finished the seven tokens, the blood-painted heptagram flared and spears of light flew to six chosen, who accepted the role and pulled a huge golden cauldron towards the centre of the star, were it began to boil. The witches slashed their palms, letting the blood fall inside it before the White Witch did the same.

"Move to your places, sisters. We begin-- What now?" Madame Pomfrey asked, watching small bursts of fire on the table set for the tokens. She approached carefully and smiled, silently thanking the Mother and the powers of magic that were favouring Harry tonight.

After repeating the blessings on the new tokens, she resumed the ritual. Soft red light framed the cloaked witches from the ground and their faces were partially illuminated with the shimmering greenish glow of the cauldron, all seven standing over a different runic polygon, from a simple triangle under the White Witch to a complex tridecagon under a violet-clad witch.

Using their wands, each levitated a goblet to the cauldron, filling it and then drinking the boiling draught. Each then raised hands to the firmament, chanting.

"_Great Magick, help us to be the always hopeful,  
Gardeners of the Magick,  
Who know that without darkness, nothing comes to birth.  
As without light, nothing flowers._"

"_Grant, O Mother, thy Protection,  
And in Protection, Strength,  
And in Strength, Understanding,  
And in Understanding, Knowledge,  
And in Knowledge, The Knowledge of Justice,  
And in the Knowledge of Justice, the Love of it,  
And in the Love of it, The Love of all Existences,  
And in the Love of all Existences, the Love of the Mother and all Goodness._"

"_Let the spirits of the Four Quarters be thanked for their blessings.  
In the name of the hawk of dawn and of the element air, we thank the powers of the East,  
In the name of the salmon of wisdom and the element of water we thank the powers of the West,  
In the name of the great stag and of the element of fire, we thank the powers of the South,  
In the name of the great bear of the starry heavens and of the element of earth, we thank the powers of the North._"

"_May the blessing of the Uncreated One, of Her Child The Created Word and of the Magick that is the Inspirer be always with us. May the world be filled with Harmony and Light._"

The White Witch walked to the table where all tokens were lined, picked the first and walked to the heptagram point in front of her ritual setting. "_Flesh of the champion, willingly given, he shall be the protected,_" she said and placed the scallop of flesh on the ground.

"_Bone of the mate, magically taken, sche shall be his enchantress,_" Madame Pomfrey described as she placed some tooth shards over the next point of the star. She moved back to the table and then towards the next point, repeating the process seven times in all.

"_Ashes of the mother, stolen from the grave, thy sacrifice shall be eternal._" It had been difficult for her to disturb Lily's resting ground, but she knew a mother would help her child even after death.

"_Flames of purity, unexpectedly gifted, your goodness shall bring him strength,_" she said in awe of the truly unexpected token. Madame Pomfrey dared believe the phoenix had been sent by Dumbledore to aid her, but she also knew he would deny it even if it were true.

"_Feather of friendship, casually found, thou shall weave his bonds._" Smiling at the white owl feather, she remembered her own familiar from her time at Hogwarts with fondness.

"_Blood of darkness, forcibly taken, thy power shall balance his magic,_" was one of the last tokens. The blood had been brought by Fawkes as well, and she easily identified where it came from because of the yellow scales and black feathers.

One final powerful token was laid on the ritual tapestry drawn with her own blood: James Potter's transfigured copy of The Sorting Hat, the one that would reveal your most embarrassing memories out loud if you put it on. "_Magic of the father, rescued from oblivion, thou shall grant him freedom!_" she finished and returned to her setting, joining the other witches for a final chant. The blood-drawn runes started to glow and move, following the paths that led them closer and closer to the heptagram, which became thicker and shone brighter.

The gathered witches beyond the ritual setting had to shield their eyes and could only listen to the sound of rushing liquid, burning flames and chanting voices, until the entire Temple rocked with an ear-splitting sonic boom.

* * *

Headmaster Dumbledore was a happy wizard. Watching the students experience joy, happiness, and love in its various forms, made him smile in earnest and laugh freely, forgetting for a moment about all the hard choices he's been forced to make as Leader of the Light.

He had experienced a moment of uneasiness because Fawkes was quite active, and given his independent streak of late, Dumbledore feared his beloved familiar might be causing some mischief with another mischief monger named Harry Potter.

"Speaking of whom, he isn't here because of Severus and his ridiculous grudge," he thought, saddened because the man had lashed out yet again at young Harry. The headmaster understood the professor's initial concern regarding the child's possibility of possession, and he knew it was necessary to keep the poor boy fragile, otherwise he wouldn't be easily swayed towards his ultimate fate, however it may come, but he couldn't help caring for him more than he should.

The Feast was well under way and while the younger pupils had already began to show signs of tiredness, the upper-years had a look of anticipation in their eyes. Headmaster Dumbledore decided it was time to release the youngsters and begin the ball, when the double doors of the Great Hall were pushed open with a bang and Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, wobbling on his feet.

"_Giant!_ Giant in the dungeons! Just thought you should now..." he yelled and collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

Two seconds was what it took for the average reasoning mind to kick that little stick holding the dam of panic, and it certainly flooded the vast majority of the Great Hall. The first scream was, oddly enough, a girlish yell of "we're all dead!" from a seventh-year man belonging to the house of the brave: Nicholas Stumpwood, from Gryffindor.

It took yet another couple of seconds for Headmaster Dumbledore to react, since he had to squash the dreadful cold feeling in his stomach first, and once he did, it was acting on his first instincts. "Everyone, everyone please!" he spoke calmly with a magically augmented voice. "Prefects, escort the students to your respective Common Rooms, and stay there."

He looked at his four Heads of House and quickly realised he had sent Slytherin, whose Common Room was _in_ the dungeons, in a direct path against the giant.

"Tit for tat, headmaster?" Severus Snape asked, clearly letting Dumbledore know he considered his actions to be intentional, and that his real, hidden question was "Are two Gryffindors worth the entire student body of Slytherin House?"

Minerva McGonagall interrupted the private contest by asking who was going to revive Professor Quirrell, but nobody seemed to mind the wizard fainted on the cold floor. "Oh very well. In any event, Poppy asked to spend the night doing private business, leaving Healer Knoggings in charge, so he's better off like this." Her tone spoke volumes about how little trust she held in the substitute healer.

"Now, now, Minerva. He's a very competent healer, I'm sure rumours about his lack of proper judgement are quite erroneous," said Dumbledore. "Now, let us search for this supposed giant, shall we?"

* * *

Seven not-quite-so-young witches lay on their backs, legs sticking up on the air and cloaks bunched against the floor, which presented a less than dignified image. As one, they began to cackle and laugh, fisting and hitting the ground hysterically.

Where there once was cauldron only crystallized rock could be seen, and golden threads of smoke still billowed in a corkscrew pattern from the places where seven tokens of magical significance once stood. Slowly, several witches that had been observing the ritual began to pop their heads from behind pillars, chairs and tables, smiles on their faces.

"That was _fun_!" yelled Marigold, always boisterous. "Let's do it again!"

Her enthusiasm only made the witches on the floor laugh harder, making it more difficult for them to stand up. It took two or three pairs of arms, or just one wand, but where's the fun in that they must have thought, to lift everyone and the White Witch.

"Do you believe it worked?" Poppy asked Morgana.

"Quite well," the woman replied, Scourgifying herself and upturning a fallen settee to relax on. "The strength of those tokens... Whoever wishes harm to your young friend will find it quite difficult to reach him. How did you find ashes and magic from his parents?"

"I went to Godrics Hollow. Disturbed her resting place and broke into his home..."

"You what?!" Morgana exclaimed in awe. "You're very brave Poppea, I hope the boy knows how much you have done for him, and how much you've given of yourself. Artemis be blessed, you stepped where You-Know-Who stood his last!"

"We'll see what the future holds... For now, however, we have a Sabbath to enjoy." She turned and clapped her hands, "Ladies, the night is ours! Charm the music, stir the cauldrons and flick your wands, we witches will feast in communion with Mother, Magick and Nature!"

A rowdier group of witches hadn't been seen gathered together in Britain for a long time. Fourteen years, to be accurate.

* * *

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Aren't you going to tell me where you were taken to?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was surrounded by women, who offered to fulfil my fondest wish all because I was a boy?"

She stopped brushing and blew a lock of hair from her face. "Harry, are you feeling well?"

"See? I said you wouldn't believe it," he said and shook his head. "Weird, crazy people. They even laughed when I said all I wished was to be back here with you."

Hermione dropped her cleaning brush. "Really? That was your fondest wish?"

Nodding, he continued to wash the wall and was easy target for the bushy-haired hugging tackler. Both kids fell to the floor and while Harry tried to wriggle his way to freedom, and to regain his breathing, they suddenly froze.

Thump, thump.

"Did you feel that?" he asked.

Thump, thump.

"I did, it sounds like those construction pile driving machines," she replied, disentangling herself and pressing an ear to the floor. "There's an odd scraping sound too."

Harry mimicked his friend and listened to the vibrations, closing his eyes. "Those are footsteps! The scraping sound is from a limp."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I learned to know who was walking closest to me around the house just by listening. I _know_ what footsteps sound like," he said and frowned.

"But those are much too loud to be the sounds of someone walking. Unless..."

"Unless it's a giant!" Harry exclaimed. "He told us! He told us what he was going to do, Hermione! He set giants loose in the castle!"

"Let's verify if it really is a giant first. And if it's dangerous then we _have_ to tell the headmaster, or a teacher at least," she said and tied her hair tightly after removing her sodden gloves.

"Pfff... Like he'd believe anything I say," he replied bitterly.

"Well, giants are somewhat difficult to miss, aren't they? Headmaster Dumbledore would have no other choice but to believe us."

Without speaking any further, they nodded to each other and began to walk the dark corridors towards the only set of stairs that connects the lowest dungeon to the rest of the castle. Harry would watch around the pillars first, run for the next one and wave for Hermione to run at him, and then she did the same for the next stretch of corridor.

Once at the base of the stairs, the rumble of something _big_ pacing up and down could be felt through their shoes, and they cursed Voldemort and his disguise as Professor Snape for taking their wands from them.

"Be right back," Harry whispered and dashed upstairs. He peeked up and down the second lowest dungeon, just in time to see a massive leather shoe the size of a bulldog, disappearing around the corner. "Bloody hell!" he said in a perfect imitation of Ron's favoured expression.

"Language, Harry! What if giants don't like people swearing?"

"But Hermione, it's huge!" he said and called her upstairs. "It went that way, towards the upper corridors where the Potions classrooms are."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yes, perhaps we could lock him, or her. Well, it anyway, inside one of the rooms and then find the headmaster."

Agreeing on that course of action, Harry and Hermione gave chase to the giant, finally catching up to it on the landing where stairs led towards a part of the castle they didn't know but were sure would take them to the Slytherin Common Room, because whenever they had Potions that was the direction they usually came from and went back to, and the staircase leading further up to the farthest end of the hallway connecting the Great Hall and the East Wing of the castle.

"It's bald," Harry needlessly said. "And it's got a club."

"I'd say it's a he," answered Hermione, taking a step into the lights cast by the wall torches. "_Excuse me, sir? May I help you?_"

She flinched back when the giant turned. He was easily twenty-five feet tall, and had to hunch himself a little to avoid banging his bald head on the ceiling. Scars marked his face, and one of his eyes was missing without anything to cover it at all. Slowly but surely, the giant searched lower and lower for the origin of the voice and focused his only eye on Hermione.

"Blaaargh! Fraaagh!" the giant yelled and raised his wooden club, poised to strike.

Harry reacted first and pushed his friend between the giant's legs, lifting her from under the arms and then running with her until she regained her balance and could sprint away on her own.

Another unintelligible bellow was heard and small earthquakes followed them as the enraged giant gave chase, swinging his club and breaking huge chunks of stone from the walls. By unspoken agreement they decided not to place the rest of the school in danger and lock the giant in the nearest open room they could find.

"Over there!" Hermione told Harry as she spotted a door ajar some thirty paces away.

The couple escaped another swing of the giant's club and ran into the room, which turned out to be a tiled bathroom with a large ornate mirror in front of five marble sinks and five stalls at a right angle lining the wall on their left side. The door just as big as most doors in Hogwarts, but it was still half as high as the giant chasing them, so the one-eyed walking mountain had to lower his club and get on all fours to push himself inside.

Pulling her first-aid kit from a pocket, Hermione unscrewed the cap off a bottle of antiseptic and splashed the giant's only eye with it while he was still halfway through. The giant screamed and brought both hands to his face, giving the children time to climb over him and head out of the room, pushing the huge leather-clad feet inside and pulling the door closed.

It was as the gigantic screams ceased, however, that they heard another voice scream. A human voice. They looked at each other and blanched. "There's someone else in there!"

Pushing the magically feather-light door open again, their hearts stopped as the huge club was swung around, smashing tile, glass and stone around a girl curled on the floor. Luckily the giant seemed to be still blind, and it gave them the advantage to try and rescue her before anything bad happened.

"I'll distract him and you get her out of here," commanded Harry as he put gloves on and picked a long shard of mirror glass from the floor. "Do it!"

Hermione snapped out of her distress and watched with equal parts pride and fear how he climbed up the giant's leg, then higher until reaching his back, where he found a hole between the roughly hewn furry leather he wore as clothing and plunged the glass shard as hard as he could into his thick skin.

"Graaak!" the giant grunted and tried to reach behind himself to remove whatever it was that was making him hurt, dropping the weapon to the floor.

Seeing her chance, Hermione jumped over a heap of debris and shook the frightened girl to get her attention. "Get up! We must get out of here!"

"Her-Hermione? That you?"

"Lisa? Quick, do you have your wand?" Hermione asked, recognizing the girl she had met on board the Hogwarts Express. The Ravenclaw nodded and she explained what she wanted, "Do the Wingardium Leviosa to charm that club and hammer the giant on the head with it before he gets Harry!"

"I-I can't do it!" she said as her hand shook like a leaf.

In the meantime, Harry continued to hold on to the giant, making small cuts on his back which weren't life-threatening but enough to keep him distracted.

"Argh, give it here," Hermione huffed and plucked the wand from the girl's hand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The enormous weapon soared on the air shakily and Hermione understood what the wandcrafter had said about wands choosing the witch. Making magic with Lisa's wand was like trying to lift herself from a pit of quicksand!

Because of the weakness of her charm, the club barely scratched the blind giant, giving him a clue as to where it was and making a bad situation even worse after he caught it and began swinging behind himself to knock Harry out. The young Gryffindor was forced to slide down and jump, twisting an ankle in the process.

All Harry could see was Hermione holding a shaking girl while reaching out for him with her arm as the giant aimed straight at them with his raised wooden weapon. He extended his arm to grab hers and pulled both girls to him, using his left arm to grab hold of a broken toilet bowl. "_No!_" he yelled and swung the heavy porcelain as hard as he could towards their attacker.

The broken toilet flew like a Bludger straight at the giant's face, where it impacted with a mighty crack, shattering porcelain and bone alike. The enraged being went still, swayed on the spot and then fell like a tree over the remains of the marble sinks, either dead or knocked out.

Hermione and Lisa were staring at Harry, while he tried to see if her friend was hurt in any way, when the doorway was flooded with adult witches and wizards holding their wands high.

"What in Merlin's name?" was all Mrs McGonagall managed to say after seeing the three first-years and the fallen giant surrounded by destruction.

"_Potter!_ What's the meaning of this?"

Ignoring the man pretending to be a Potions Master, Harry turned his attention to the still silent headmaster. "Headmaster Dumbledore, sir? I think there could be more of them around the castle," he said with a nod towards the form bleeding on the cold floor. "But first, can you save him if... If he's still alive, without any danger to the school?"

A full-blown twinkle shone in the headmaster's eyes for a moment, and then dimmed to bring the old wizard a look of regret, maybe even shame if Harry's skills at reading people's expressions were still sharp. He could see nothing but loathing on Snape's face, though, while the rest of the Heads of House looked confused or awed. "Great, more food for that Boy-Who-Lived crap," he thought to himself, glad that Hermione couldn't hear him use such foul language.

"Professors, are there giants living in the Forbidden Forest?" asked Hermione as if she were sitting in class instead of holding Lisa shivering in her arms. It was a novelty for her to be comforting someone when she grew up without being comforted at all, particularly after her first accidental magic, but it gave her a warm feeling to be able to do so.

"Yes, my boy, I believe Professor Quirrell is able to handle the creature safely. And no, Miss Granger, there are no giant colonies in the Forest," answered Dumbledore, intrigued by the scowls on both Gryffindors.

"How could he have come to be here, then? As implausible as it may sound, he must have been brought to the school on purpose, sir." Hermione said this while looking up at Snape, almost daring him to reveal himself. She smiled as she could feel Harry looking proudly at her in turn.

"Ridiculous! It seems Potter's ego has affected the know-it-all as well. That will be a point from Gryffindor for questioning your superiors, and ten points each for leaving the _safety_ of your detention," the pale wizard said with a smirk.

Not a single teacher objected, but they could see Mrs McGonagall thinning her lips and looking disdainfully at Snape.

"Well, I would like to ask my charge, Ms Turpin, what she was doing--"

"M-m-my g-goodness, who c-c-caught the giant this quickly?" interrupted Professor Quirrell as he barged in running. Hermione looked at Harry and both had the same thought. "They weren't expecting him to be defeated so easily."

"As I was saying," Professor Flitwick resumed, "I'm worried about you, Ms Turpin." He reached forward with a small hand and made Lisa focus on him.

"I was... It's my own fault, I was curious and wanted to see it, professor. I wanted to see the giant," she said in a small voice. "I followed it here, but when it turned to attack me, it banged its head on the ceiling and fell."

Again, the Gryffindor pupils looked at each other, each wondering why would she lie about what really happened, as well as why would she be looking for a giant behind the stalls of a very seldom used bathroom.

"That's when Hermione and Harry found me, and soon after the professors arrived," Lisa added, looking at the kids in the eyes.

"Naturally," drawled Snape, "it would be preposterous to believe three first-years could defeat a grown giant by themselves. It's by sheer dumb luck that they're alive, headmaster, and they should be expelled for their stupidity!"

"Severus, you have already assigned fair punishment," Dumbledore said while nursing his beard. "While all of you have been very lucky, as Professor Snape puts it, it is also impossible to dismiss your lack of judgement, Ms Turpin, and your disobedience of a professor's directions, Ms Granger and Mr Potter. Five points demerit on Ravenclaw, and all of you shall serve detention with me Monday evening and Saturday morning the next."

The three children bowed their heads in acceptance, and Dumbledore sent them off to bed by themselves, purposely giving them the chance to discuss what he suspected was the truth of the situation.

Five minutes and four floors higher later, Harry finally broke the silence. "Why did you lie?"

"I had to!" Lisa replied.

"I don't like lies. It's one thing to hide something, but another to lie outright, Lisa. Why would you _have_ to do it?"

"Let me ask you this, Potter. Where's your wand?"

"Vol-- Snape's got it, why?"

"You flung a toilet weighing ten kilos at a giant's face seven meters high, while lying on your back on the floor with enough power to break its skull. _Without_ a wand! Now _you_ tell me why I had to lie for you," she answered and then smirked. "How's your ankle, by the way?"

"Cricket, Harry!" Hermione jumped and spun him around, watching his feet. "You're healed!"

"And you managed to use my wand, Hermione, something that should be impossible for someone our age. I don't know what to think of you two, but I owe you my life," she said and trembled from head to toe.

"No you don't. We led the giant to that bathroom on purpose, only we didn't know there was someone inside!" Hermione explained. "What were you doing there, anyway?"

Lisa looked askance at Harry but neither Gryffindor acknowledged her uneasiness. Harry saw it but didn't understand the reason, while Hermione had never learnt silent girl-speak at all. Sighing, the young Ravenclaw searched for a suitable bench to sit.

"It's silly, I-- Let's just say it's ridiculously silly."

"If something made you hide in a deserted bathroom when there's a Halloween party going on, it can't be that silly," Hermione said. "We couldn't attend because of detention, but you chose not to go, or to leave for some reason."

"An older girl dropped a glass of pumpkin juice on my head. I cleaned it up with a household charm," she explained when Hermione and Harry looked at her hair. "It's just that, well, these pranks have been constant since the beginning of the year because I refused to do their bidding, and I wanted a lonely place to cry in."

"How do you mean, do their bidding?"

"Fetch books or quills and parchment for them, things of that nature," explained Lisa with a frown. "And refill their goblets, and check the schedules for unexpected changes, like all the other first-years have to."

"That's absolutely disgusting!" an agitated Hermione exclaimed. "Why does Professor Flitwick allow that to happen?"

"It's the apprenticeship way. Ravenclaw House has had the same Apprentice rules since the Founders, and they're actually a lot softer now, but still I disagree and I won't do it. However the pranking is starting to frazzle my nerves."

"Well then, I believe I speak for Harry too, we'll be there to help you anyway we can. We're guilty of almost... Oh my goodness... I'm so sorry, Lisa! You could have died and all because I had the stupid idea of locking a giant inside a room!" she said and buried her face in her arms. She tried to hold the tears but now that the adrenalin was gone, she could see how much of a disaster this could have been. "I _do_ deserve to be expelled!" she thought and sobbed hard.

The situation and his feelings at that moment made Harry experience an epiphany. He was proud of using that word, because he had been the one to find it in the class dictionary and complete an assignment Ms Vowel had given a year go. Unfortunately he had paid for it with insults and a backhanded slap at home when Dudley accused Harry of making fun of him in school.

What he realized just then was that he could actually understand justice as Hermione put it. He could just as well want to hurt and kill the Ravenclaws that made Lisa Turpin hide in a bathroom to cry and risk being killed by a giant, but then he would have to punish Hermione in the same way, and do the same to himself for agreeing to lead the giant into that bathroom.

"She's all right, Hermione. Lisa's alive and nobody's gonna think less of you because it was an honest mistake. And even if she had... Well, died," Harry hesitated and looked at the blond Ravenclaw, saying "Please don't take this the wrong way, but even if you'd been killed, it wasn't Hermione's intent to murder you using that giant."

Harry gathered his courage and put an arm around his friend, pressing her flush against him. "Justice is all about balance, and though I can't shove you into a locked room with a huge crazed man holding a kick-ass wooden club, I'd say you feeling so guilty is punishment enough."

"No, it isn't," she answered between sobs.

"Yes it is," Lisa said, surprising them both. "You sure are full of surprises, Harry Potter. Those are very noble thoughts, I can see why you were sorted in Gryffindor."

"It's just Harry, Lisa. And thanks for saying that, but she's the one that taught me what justice is," he explained giving Hermione a small shake. "It just took me a few hours to understand it... And that's a speed record for me!"

"Harry! Don't belittle yourself... And Lisa, would you-- Would you forgive me for what I did?"

"There's nothing to forgive, but if it makes your self-punishment complete, I do forgive your mistake."

Hermione looked like she wanted to hug the girl, yet settled for a nod, a smile and a sincere thank-you. A minute later, since none of them had said another word, Lisa cleared her throat and said good-night. "I really should be back in the tower. Can we-- Would you like to share breakfast together? Tomorrow morning?"

"We'd like that, yes," Hermione said after a quick silent glance between Harry and her. With that, two Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw ended an unforgettable All Hallows Eve, filled with Halloween horror stories to tell their grandchildren, magicked by Samhain rituals for life, and spiced by a Sabbath gathering of their very own that could result in a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Notes: 1.- I apologize if Harry's scar has been identified in the original books, because I don't really remember if it ever was. I've read fics where Harry's scar is an Eihwaz or Eoh rune, others where it's only described as a "protective rune" and if memory doesn't fail me, only one in which it was described as a Siegel, Sigil or Sig rune. It is quite unfortunate that this one was used as a base for the infamous SS insignia, which has given the symbol of Sun-related powers of greatness and victory a bad connotation.  
Now, looking at the symbolism of canon Potterverse, my belief is that the idea was to use the Eoh rune as Harry's scar, because in what little source material I've got it's the one related to Death and more commonly associated with the yew tree (!) as well as personal knowledge and individual achievements.

2.- Translations: "rendezvous" = meeting; "laissez faire" = a tolerant attitude, to let others do what they will.

3.- Greeshma Ritu is one the traditional seasons in an Indian calendar; there are six of them "ritus" and each has unique weather characteristics and significance that apply to traditional medicine and even musical forms.

4.- Snape recited a famous line from Don Quixote, where the delusional knight charges at windmills convinced that they're giants. I realize Cervantes might be as little known in the Anglo-Saxon literature as Shakespeare is to Hispanic literature, but if anyone has the chance, please read it and look up the historical context of the times.

5.- Does Poppy Pomfrey have a full name? I don't remember, so I hope Poppea Pomfrey is adequate.

6.- The ritual chanting is of Druidic origin, I copied it from several very similar if not identical ritual texts performed in Samhain. The part where the four quarters are honoured is also repeated in other rituals, as it serves to centre the participants.


	13. Chapter 13: My Name's Albus Dumbledore

**Chapter 13: My Name's Albus Dumbledore, I'm a Dealer in Magicks and Lore**

"Hullo Hermione, sleep well?" Harry asked, lifting the trapdoor and sniffing the chill of the clouded dawn. He yawned widely and let the swing door fall, stopping the draft of warmer air escaping Gryffindor Tower.

"Not at all," she answered sincerely. "What about you?"

He shrugged and slipped under the comforters next to the tired-looking girl. "Nightmares."

"Some dynamic duo we are," she said softly. "Last night went right over our heads, Harry. And do you want to know what I've discovered? That this entire situation flew over our heads the moment we walked into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

"What d'you mean?" he asked and yawned again, rubbing his left eye and pushing his glasses askew.

"I mean we don't know _anything_ about the Magical World at all! How many magical events have happened around us, that we've dismissed as normal simply because we didn't know better?" Hermione said and bit her lower lip, leaving a slowly fading dimple on it. "Lisa was right, she _had_ to lie for us or else we'd be under constant examination in a cage somewhere like a couple of lab mice!"

"I'd say you're making a big deal out of nothing," he told her with a frown.

"No I'm not!" she exclaimed and dove under the comforters to look for something. Harry could see her outline shifting around under the thick fabric until Hermione exclaimed a muffled triumphant "aha!" and came back up. "Here, read the report on Tilby and Talby Tribble, twin sisters discovered to have quite a few _unusual_ abilities in their second year at Hogwarts."

He started to read the heavy tome and sighed. Having trouble understanding the very first line of text wasn't a good omen. His answer, however, was Hermione Granger's caring; he was the only one she would show so much patience with, and even Neville, whom Harry thought Hermione liked a lot, sometimes had his head chewed off for not finishing an essay or not understanding something she had already explained. "Insatiable comes from _satiare_ in Latin, which means to fill. The prefix _in_ you already know negates the action, while the suffix, or ending, _able_ is just English."

"Huh, so insay-tee-eyeball means... Not fillable?"

"Yes, close enough, think of something impossible to satisfy. Like Ron' appetite, for example! And it's pronounced in-say-sheah-ble," she said and smiled, urging him to continue reading and giving him hints to understand the text instead of simply spouting answers like an automaton.

In the end, Harry was horrified. The Tribble family had actually gone so far as to disown the twin girls and hand them over to custody of the Ministry for Magic, "for advancing the knowledge of magical mysteries," meaning they had become little more than lab rats as Hermione had said. "They didn't even finish school!" he exclaimed and snapped the W.E.A.K. book shut.

"Exactly, and that isn't the only case I found either, only the worse."

"What's Dumbledore going to do to us? He can read minds and he sure knows what happened last night!"

"Headmaster Dumbledore would find it quite difficult to explain how a giant found its way inside Hogwarts, so we have leverage over him because of it." She paused and bit her lip again, even harder. "I'm nervous, I'll admit to it, but at the same time I don't believe the headmaster to be a bad person. Cautious, yes, perhaps stubborn like all adults are, also. But not a bad man that would simply let families be destroyed for some greater cause like magical advancement."

"I dunno 'bout that... I just don't trust grown-ups," he answered with a shrug. "Even Healer Poppy. I mean, she took that healing oath thing, but it still doesn't mean much to me."

Harry saw Hermione's disappointed face and sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't get me wrong, Hermione. I'm thankful to her and all, and I did agree to the ritual that must have saved our lives last night, and I _do_ think of her as someone I can be friendly with... But it'll take a lot for me to trust her like I trust you."

"You have a kind heart, Harry. Despite your bad experiences, I know there's a place in it for her, or am I wrong?" she questioned while trying to flatten some of his coal-black, wild locks of hair. "Madame Pomfrey is exactly what we wanted, someone in Hogwarts willing to listen and to actually _believe_ what we tell her." Hermione refrained from voicing her opinion that the chief healer could one day become the mother figure Harry needed so badly, and that she herself had always wanted to see in her Aunt Claire but never could.

"Yeah, you're right... I'll give her a chance, but I won't follow her blindly like I did with Harper for so long!" he huffed and crossed his arms. "And I won't believe everything she says too-- either, I mean," he corrected himself, drawing a beaming smile from his friend.

"That's good, because I believe the only way we can avoid making fools of ourselves, or being fooled by others, is to delve into what most magically-raised kids take for granted: a true wizarding culture."

"Owww... Please don't tell me, Hermione. More reading?"

"Yes Harry! More reading!" she said and narrowed her eyes at him, completing the gesture by fisting her hands on her hips. "C'mon it will be fun!"

"I don't wanna... The words start swimming on my mind, and someday soon I'll have my brain pouring out of my ears," he complained and mimicked ooze coming out of his ear with a hand.

"Quit being so melodramatic!"

"I'm not that, whatever it is," Harry said defensively. "And it's true, I bet Healer Pomfrey can tell you all about liquif-- Lisquid-- Fried brains!"

"Liquefied brains? Did those people let you watch too much evening telly at their place when you were little? It sounds as if you've managed to enjoy one too many _bad_ zombie pictures."

"Not really, I've only really watched a film or two in my whole life. Hey, that's a good idea! First thing I'll get this Summer is a portable telly for me! I'd be able to watch it even while using the loo!"

Hermione threw her arms on the air, shook her head and muttered "Boys!" She couldn't resist the blossoming smile on her face, however, and simply looked at Harry warmly before rolling up the comforters, storing the books and letting herself be pulled back into the tower.

After a thorough bath and lost battle to fix their hair, each of the kids deemed herself or himself presentable in front of their respective girls' or boys' wickedly charmed lavatory mirror, and met downstairs in the already crowded Common Room. Whispers of giants and deadly victims could be heard from frantic mouths to eager ears and onward, every story more macabre than the last, and even some accusatory fingers began pointing at the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Let's get out of here," he mumbled and pushed the portrait of the Fat lady open, holding it for her to walk through. Before he could step forward, Harry noticed Parvati and Lavender on his right, switched an arm and let them exit as well, only to be cut again by a couple of older Gryffindors, who said "Thank you, Harry Potter" together, breaking into laughter after that.

By the time he finally managed to leave, his arms were cramped from holding the portrait up and Hermione waited with her back against the wall, tapping a foot clad in her very pointy dragon-hide boots. "Took you long enough!"

"It was a lot of them," he tried to excuse himself.

"You didn't have to hold the door for each and every girl in Gryffindor! Goodness, you don't even have to hold the portrait at all," she added and pulled the frame up, startling the Fat Lady. "See? It stays up when there's someone still underneath and you let go."

"I could have told him myself, young lady!" the portrait complained from above them.

"My apologies, lady guardian of the tower," Hermione replied primly, sparing an annoyed glance at Harry.

"Er... Breakfast then?" he said and shook both arms to regain some feeling.

"Yes, please. I'm feeling particularly picky today so we better hurry before the good rolls are gone. Besides, Lisa is probably waiting for us to start her own morning meal."

They descended the ever-moving main staircases and not-so-animated yet just as beautiful marble steps leading to the Great Hall and, once inside, stood on the tips of their feet to search for the Ravenclaw girl with pale grey, silvery eyes.

"There she is," Hermione said and sent a shy wave at Lisa, who returned it easily, standing up to meet them.

"Hello Hermione, Harry," she greeted and looked down at her feet, playing nervously with her own hands.

"Mornin' Lisa," Harry said quickly and, noticing her uneasiness, asked "So, which table?"

"I'm not certain, remember that we're supposed to share meals _only_ with our respective Houses," Lisa explained.

Hermione saw both long tables almost full of students, it would be difficult to make space for the three of them to sit together, even without considering Lisa's correct remark. While she thought about it, Harry had already sprung into action behind her. He moved a protesting bust off the top of a marble pedestal and placed the bronze witch next to the smirking statue of a wrinkled old warlock, plucked a shield from the nearest suit of armour and while handing it to a red-faced Hermione, started to roll the pedestal closer to the Hufflepuff table, which was right in the middle between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

"Harry, that's _vandalism_!" sputtered Hermione, raising the square metal shield to hide herself.

"No it isn't, because I'll put it all back after we're done," he said and pulled the defensive metal plate from her hands, placing it on top of the pedestal as a makeshift table for three. "Yeah, I know that word thanks to Dudley," he whispered anticipating Hermione's question, but Lisa looked a bit lost.

"Dudley is this despicable boy Harry has had to endure living with until coming to Hogwarts," Hermione explained and then almost had a heart attack when her friend walked up to Mr Filch and asked for some stools or buckets. The old man's left eye was almost out of its socket and she could hear his few remaining teeth disintegrating under the pressure of his rage-fuelled gnawing.

Harry remained steadfast, and after promising the caretaker to return everything to its place clean and in perfect condition, was shown to a discrete door on the wall blocking a broom-closet, from where he borrowed two three-legged stools and an empty bucket he would overturn and use as a seat.

By the time he rejoined Hermione and Lisa, half of Gryffindor was moaning about the sure loss of House Points, Hufflepuffs were snickering at the unique display of camaraderie, the few Ravenclaws that cared enough to look around were shaking their heads and the Slytherins were pointing at him while alerting their Head of House.

Professor Snape made to stand up but was beat by the Head of Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall. "What do you think you're doing, Mr Potter?"

Suddenly realizing how much attention he had unwillingly drawn to himself, he felt his face heat up and looked at the stern witch across the hall. "Er... A table, ma'am."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, McGonagall spoke again, slowly. "You _have_ an assigned table to your right. It _is_ there for a reason!"

"Deputy Headmistress, if I could?" asked Hermione softly, raising her hand as if she were in a Transfiguration lesson. An exasperated nod from the elder witch told her to continue, "Knowing that we're supposed to share meals with our own House members, and not wanting to slight neither Gryffindor nor Ravenclaw, I believe Harry thought it best to share a neutral table today. Only he did it... Well, the Harry way..."

"The _Harry_ way?" Lisa asked in a whisper.

"Yes. Impulsive and uncaring of consequences, yet amazingly righteous in his actions," she whispered back.

As the Great Hall waited with baited breath for McGonagall's icy temper to freeze the snotty first-years to the marrow of their bones, Headmaster Dumbledore surprised them all by speaking. "Why would two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw want to enjoy a meal together?" he asked as if starting a joke at the local pub.

"Because we want to be friends?" Harry replied, speaking honestly despite his uneasiness. He watched silently as Mrs McGonagall's lips thinned even further after having to sit back down.

"Ravenclaws are studious scholars, open-minded yet not overly friendly, and cannot tolerate a Gryffindor's single-minded, chivalrous and generally whimsical attitude. The same can be said conversely, making friendship an impossible goal. Surely you cannot pretend to ignore such differences," the headmaster insisted, his amused eyes boring into Harry's.

It was Hermione who spoke this time. "Why not? Tolerance is something to be praised, not scoffed at! I don't see why Houses should shun each other, just because we compete for points and the honour of wining the House Cup. There's nothing to say one is better than another either," she had to pause for the insults and barbs voiced by people in all tables. "And despite the claims, a Ravenclaw can be just as brave and noble as Gryffindors can sometimes be scholars."

"Ridiculous! She's a nobody, a Muggle-born ignoramus!" someone shouted.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived can't believe such things!" another voice added from somewhere among the Hufflepuffs.

From the Gryffindor table, a male voice yelled "Absurd, next thing we know she'll say Slytherins aren't evil!"

"Well, I _do_ believe there's no reason to say every member of Slytherin is evil!" Hermione rebated and was answered with several more depreciative comments about her origins and Harry's overblown ego thrown at them, taxing the pair's already stressed selves to the edge of tears.

A strong hand gripped each of their forearms, a hand with perfectly manicured fingernails charmed in soft-purple colour and long fingers adorned by a pair of golden rings. Lisa pulled them to her a little, and reassuring herself that if these two could knock down a giant, she could most certainly confront a hall full of witches and wizards. "Watch this," she said, pulling her wand and muttering something while pointing at her throat. "_Shut uuup!_"

Her amplified voice, while not as loud as that belonging to Hagrid in a good day, was enough to silence most of the hall. "How many of you have mixed-house parents? I know I do. Go on, raise your hands!" She seemed satisfied to see barely half a dozen hands on the air, including one from Slytherin table. "How many of us first-years have been split from childhood friends because of House affiliation?" she asked again, this time looking at the Hufflepuff table where a boy with brown hair waved and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

"Lisa, what are you doing?" a nervous Hermione asked.

"Making a point. We witches and wizards do enjoy a good exposure, as Witch Weekly and the Prophet clearly show," she said casually, leaving both Harry and Hermione with proverbial interrogation marks floating over their heads.

Lisa cleared her throat. "I'm not one for tradition, as my fellow Ravenclaws can tell you, and tradition isn't going to stop me from making friends. Anywhere."

"Ms Turpin, I'm taking a point from Ravenclaw for using magic in the halls," Charms Master Flitwick stood up, as high as he could anyway, and announced over the general murmur that gripped the tables after Lisa's declaration that she and a few others had parents coming from different Houses. "And _rewarding_ Ravenclaw with five points for exemplifying your thoughts so marvellously!"

Lisa beamed and thanked her Head of House, dragging her new friends to the makeshift table Harry had assembled. "Should we sit down and eat now?"

Harry watched in amazement as several students, young and old, started to call others and stand up to find places in other tables. A gathering of chatting Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs sat close to the raised Staff Table, while a couple of seventh-year Ravenclaws could be seen joining the older ranks in Slytherin, and the nearest Hufflepuffs made some room at the end closer to Harry's table for Ron and Neville, who had brought a few extra servings along. Lisa laughed at their confused looks and began sorting her own breakfast, leaving the Muggle-raised boy and Muggle-born girl to ponder on the weirdness of magical people.

"That was some loony talk, Harry," said Ron. "And thinking Slytherins aren't evil is just stupid, so I'm gonna help you throw away people trying to be friends from other Houses now that you stuck you foot in it."

Lisa, Hermione and Harry couldn't believe their ears, but it was Neville who reacted first. "My mother and father were-- _Are_ from different Houses, are you saying they shouldn't have married each other because of it?"

"Yeah, that's barking mental! We Weasleys have always been Gryffindors, and so were my mum and dad, and my grandpa Septimus was and married a Gryffindor, and my great-grandpa Ansley met my great-grandma Radella in Gryffindor, and my great-great-grandpa Wilfred also--"

"All right, Ron, we get it," Harry interrupted with a chuckle. Ron was just as funny as he was annoying, but still he had called Hermione stupid, and that was something he had promised himself, and her, not to accept. "Now I'd like you to apologize to Hermione, please."

"Wha' for?" he asked while chewing on some beans.

"For calling her thoughts stupid, which means you think she's just as stupid, and I won't let you or anyone else insult my friend," Harry explained calmly, though Hermione could see and feel he was a toad's hair away from getting angry, as the annoying swirling lights came back into her field of vision. She had already associated the deep red wisps with his bad moods, and clear greens to his happiness, not to mention the warmth that enveloped her every time Harry smiled.

The Boy-Who-Lived had continued talking. "And _you_ don't get to choose what friends I wanna have! You said I was alright, even though I can talk to my Hermione's familiar and that makes you cool in my book, but that don't excuse you trying to bully me, Ron!"

"Cricket, now he's definitely angry," thought Hermione as Harry slammed his palm on the shield, rattling Lisa's and her plates and cutlery. And then she squeaked, going over his slip-up about calling her _his_ Hermione in front of everyone.

"Blimey, Harry! Didn't mean nothing by it, I'm sorry Hermione. It's just... Just not _normal_ thinking, you know?"

As if to prove a point, Blacksnout chose that moment to slither out of Hermione's comfortably warmer rucksack and when many owls plus one raven burst into the Great Hall carrying post, Scriptor and Kettle dived towards them laden with a few rectangular envelopes and rolled parchments. Ron watched Harry feeding and hissing at the boa, concerned about something, then at the large scary raven delivering strange envelopes with funny unmoving drawings on it, and groaned.

"Actually, you two aren't normal," he said pointing at Hermione and Harry. "Brilliant and great to hang out with, but not normal."

"Good thing you missed the giant, then," quipped Lisa, making Harry choke on his pumpkin juice and Hermione drop the letter she was opening.

"T-t-the giant from yesterday?" Neville asked in a whisper, looking nervously around the hall just in case another giant popped out of the walls. "You s-saw it?"

"Er... Yes, you could say that," Harry answered, chancing a glance at Lisa, who shivered but steeled herself.

"It attacked me, and, let's just say I'm only alive today thanks to Mr Potter and Ms Granger." The mentioned boy and girl tried to say it wasn't like that and blushed at the awed looks Neville and Ron gave them.

"Hah! But me and them escaped Fluffy when he tried to eat us," Ron eventually said smugly.

"Fluffy?"

"He's this big, and I mean _big_ three-headed dog!" Harry replied, opening his arms wide to emphasize the size of Hagrid's furry puppy. Hermione nodded heartily, hair flowing up and down.

"And I was with Hermione, Ron and Harry hiding on the tower in our first night," Neville said with a slight blush at having all four pairs of eyes focused on him. "That was scary! Truly scary!" he exclaimed before telling of their first night's exploration and unfortunate flushing from the Astronomy Tower.

Harry still had half a plate full of food, and although Hermione was feeling particularly more finicky about her food than usual, she had found the perfect pineapple and ham slices with just the right thickness to them. Nothing baked was deemed good enough after her inspection, though, and she settled for a glass of milk instead of juice.

"Here he comes," he alerted her and kept a firm grip on the cutting knife he used, pretending to eat. Hermione needed no clarification as to _who_ was approaching, and she discretely lowered a hand into her rucksack, grabbing the handle of her umbrella in case she needed to defend herself like a cave-girl brandishing a club.

"Potter. Potterette. Your wands," the Potions Professor drawled and dropped the magical items on their plates, smearing them with food. He turned and left the Great Hall, as Harry and Hermione breathed again.

"Yuck! What a despicable man," Hermione said and lifted her wand between index and thumb, absently searching for her disposable wipes with the other hand. Once all traces of grease and fruit sugars were gone, she gave her wand another thorough polish until it looked properly disinfected.

Harry, on the other hand, used a napkin to partially wipe the egg and bits of bacon off before storing his wand inside a pocket without a second though. "We need to talk. All five of us," he said in a serious voice that made Hermione snap her face at him.

She looked deeply into her friend's eyes and wondered if Neville, Ron and Lisa could handle their secret quests. At the same time, she knew they were tackling so many mysteries at once, not to mention the biggest threat of Voldemort in their midst looking for something they still didn't know what, and perhaps adding their purely magical knowledge of things could be a good thing. "Very well," she said. "Tomorrow, before Lisa, Harry and I have to serve detention with Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Alright... We can meet at the door to the Concert Room, after my lessons with Master Liszt," Harry stated and returned to his breakfast.

Once finished, Harry disassembled the table and replaced stools, bucket, shield and pedestal to their rightful places, followed closely by Mr Filch. He ignored the old man's mutterings about flailing and hanging students by their thumbs, and after asking for the caretaker's approval, left with his friends to find a spot to sit by the lake.

"Why tomorrow and not today?" whispered Harry.

"Because we need to decide how much to tell them, and how much we need to hide."

"Don't you think they'd be better off knowing everything? I won't lie to them, Hermione."

"In all honesty I wouldn't lie to them either, but some things are too sensitive to reveal. Having visions, for example, isn't a good sign even in the magical world," she placated, taking his hand in hers and leaning her temple to his.

Their whispers were ignored by Ron and Neville, the first still couldn't believe anyone would take the time to talk with a girl like Harry did, and the second was used to people doing things among themselves without noticing him at all. Lisa, however, while shy and wondering how much of a friendship she could have with a rowdy bunch of Gryffindors, had the innate female instincts to recognize the uncommon relationship between Harry and Hermione.

"Lisa? Lisa!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You were staring at Harry and me..." said Hermione.

Lisa blushed deeply and looked down at her shoes, but Harry angled himself to look at her face from below. "Are you alright?" he asked, wondering if she'd eaten something to upset her stomach.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You haven't," both Gryffindors replied at the same time, which made them frown at each other.

The five young students sat in a rough circle a dozen feet from the shore of the lake, Neville was dragged into a game of chess against Ron, who seemed to always carry a battered set with him, and Hermione invited Lisa to look at her Muggle post, something she had never seen before. Harry took the time to lay back and spread his body on the ground, closing his eyes and softly singing to himself.

"Harry? Did Blacksnout tell you how he injured himself?" Hermione asked a few minutes later.

Opening his eyes, he turned to face his friend and shrugged. "He said it was a sacrifice. Didn't understand the other word he used, though. You know that he speaks this weird language."

She nodded and worried her lower lip, because she had noticed Kettle also had a clump of missing feathers, but seemed to be healing well. "Someone or something attacked my poor familiars last night," she complained after reading a letter from her uncle Charles. "They're so beautiful, who'd want to harm such lovely creatures?"

Ron, Neville and Lisa snorted, and Harry raised an eyebrow in silence. "Snakes are evil! It tried to eat Scabbers and probably wanted to eat Neville's toad too," Ron shouted, predictably.

"Ravens are bad omens as well, Hermione. Particularly more so in nights like yesterday, when the darker aspects of magic are at their peak" Lisa added.

Hermione tried to pout but failed to be convincing, instead she bit her lip again and looked sideways at Harry. "Halloween ritual?" she mouthed at him.

"Who knows," he answered and changed the subject. "So, who wrote you so much?"

"Uncle Charles, he agrees with the sponsorship but doesn't have a clue how to approach the issue, or where. There's also a box of marshmallows..."

"Wicked!"

"...that Mrs Morewitt shrunk, so we need to ask an upperclassman to undo the charm first, Ronald. And no, there's no replenishing charm either so we'll share the sweets equally!" she instructed sternly. "There's also a letter from Annie, a note from my cousin and... Strange, this is for you, Harry."

Harry took the sealed roll of parchment and read the name scribbled on it. The wax was golden with a fancy striped ribbon in green, brown and yellow, and he noticed Hermione had one addressed to her too. Still flat on his back, he adjusted his eyeglasses and broke the seal, unfurling the letter above him.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We the Magicals of Khoekhoe, Bantu and Late Independent Communities, are pleased to confirm your new Magical Citizenship as a national of the Xhosa Clan within our Commonwealth of Tribes and Kingdoms for Austral Africa. Our diverse peoples welcome you with open arms after your renunciation of natural citizenship through magical severance, and wish you peace and prosperity._

_It is our great honour to consider Miss Granger and yourself as our esteemed representatives at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from this day forward, and please expect an envoy of your Clan to visit the prestigious leaning centre within the week to meet and greet you._

_Additionally, given that the Magical Protectorate invested upon the Patriarch of your Custodian Family is bound to a non-magical human, we are hitherto unable to provide your Patriarch with the appropriate ceremony, and heartily offer you the opportunity to be so invested in his stead at your earliest convenience._

_This document is magically charmed to reach your hands through any means necessary and is furthermore considered a viable and legitimate Permanent Travelling Apparatus under current International Treatises and Regulations. To activate it and travel to and from our Austral African Long-Distance Travelling Terminus, please press both thumbs to the scroll and chant the Song of the Wanderer._

_Sincerely,_

_Archibald M. Tambo_  
_Prime Column of the Council_  
_Commonwealth of Tribes and Kingdoms for Austral Africa_

"Er... Hermione? _Help!_"

The bushy-haired girl snatched the scroll from his hands and perused it intently, looking up at him with a very confused look in her face. "Mine is basically the same, except that it names my grandfather Gregory as a Magical Brother to a Xhosa Clan, making the Granger family a Protectorate of theirs. But how could this be? When did we renounce citizenship?"

Although neither said anything out loud, when Harry and Hermione looked at each other their minds screamed the same words: "The ritual!"

"What are you two talking about?" Lisa said and stopped playing with the silver trinket Hermione had shown her.

"I'd say we aren't British any more," Harry said and groaned, wondering how much more trouble he was going to be in after this.

* * *

Monday began with clouded skies and wind. Lots of wind, which made Harry definitely rue the day he had detention with the headmaster of his school. Deep down, he wished he could get himself a cold from the bad weather, but he knew his chances were low. In all his childhood, he had never been sick, and his injuries and bruises always faded rather quickly, though not less painful.

A noise behind him alerted to the trapdoor being pushed open. "Hello Harry, you're early today. And shivering! Didn't you think to bring a duvet or something?"

"A what?"

"Duvet, it's a feather-stuffed comforter, a thick blanket, and there's an expanded drawer with those in the room's wardrobe, didn't you know?" she said and swiftly wrapped herself and her friend in the one she brought.

"Oh... Thanks," he said softly.

"By the way, Harry, I loved the piece you played yesterday evening. I'm sorry for not telling you before but you never came down for dinner." Hermione sighed at his silence, knowing he was still nervous about detention with the headmaster and the fact Madame Pomfrey hadn't yet returned to the castle; not to mention the unsettling letters regarding his and her new nationalities. "You missed the look on Professor McGonagall, she was misty-eyed and clapped as loud as I did."

"Thank you, I'm glad you liked Hesperion Hassbin. I know he's supposed to be a great wizard composer, but I think he's boring as hell..."

"Harry!"

"Well it's true," he said with a shrug. "The whole finale where you have to use your left toes to play the chord is just... Blech, I guess is the word."

Hermione laughed, "Blech is _not_ a word."

"But that piece had little meaning and too much noise! Just like some of Haydn's or even Listz's own works are sometimes pointless to me. I believe that music is about feelings and sensations, Hermione. It should be 'bout memories and dreams, 'bout hate, love and everything in between, and I've seen it cripple a grown man, and I've felt myself drowning when it's too intense. But it can soothe and fix a broken soul too! And then again music can be this huge balloon of hot air that pops and leaves you disappointed, as if it wasn't worth the effort, just like life is sometimes," he told her while making an exploding gesture with his hands.

The Gryffindor girl stared at him for a while. She still had trouble anticipating the many moods of Harry Potter, and every once in a while he would surprise her by saying meaningful things like these. "I... I don't know what to say Harry. Are you-- Do you feel like your life isn't worth the effort?"

"Sometimes, yeah..."

"Am I-- Am I worth your effort?" she asked in a whisper, her words almost drowned by the strong wind but clear enough for Harry's selective hearing.

"Yes." He stared back at her and remained silent, gazing into her eyes and memorizing every shade, every strand and layer of colour in her irises. Harry could almost hear the music coming from them, tremolo notes on a lonely violin introducing a sorrowful melody, asking for his friendship and acceptance. "Yes you are. You've been worth the effort ever since we met all those years ago."

"Then I'll help you deal with life, and right now we need to deal with Voldemort, Headmaster Dumbledore and everything else, Mr Potter of the Xhosa Clan," she ended with a smirk.

"Got that right, oh great Ms Granger, Custodian of Potter," he smirked back and showed her his tongue.

"Respect, Mr Potter, I'm your Patriarch's granddaughter after all," she bantered and snickered at the scared look that suddenly blossomed on his face. "Yes, Harry, I'll introduce you to my family during the Christmas Holidays, just don't expect them to spend too much time around you. And my aunt will probably be afraid to even shake your hand or be in the same room with you."

Harry gulped and suddenly had the mental image of being very, very small looking up at Hermione's family as they poked and probed him with very sharp and pointy tools, trying to understand what he was. He knew her family were probably good people, unlike the Dursleys, but it still made him extremely nervous to meet them.

"Harry, look!" Hermione called and distracted him from his thoughts. "Madame Pomfrey is back."

The Chief Healer walked through the gates and the children tried to get her attention, waving arms and expelling sparks from their wands, but she soon disappeared from view. They decided to forgo bathing, Hermione admonishing him not to make a habit of it, and went to greet her in the Infirmary.

Their small feet made much more noise than expected because the corridors were deserted, except for a couple of ghosts. "No running in the halls, children," the Fat Friar yelled as they ran under him, and they replied "sorry" together, making them scowl at each other.

Soon they came to the double doors of the Infirmary, and heard Madame Pomfrey talking with the substitute Healer Knoggings. "Thank you for everything, Michael."

"Not a problem, Poppy. Truth is nobody visited the Infirmary at all, although there were rumours of a giant loose in the dungeons and I expected at least a few injuries. I'd say that's all they were, mere rumours."

With a final goodbye, the healer walked down the corridor and turned a corner, allowing Hermione and Harry to come out from behind the bench they were using to hide. They opened and closed the door softly, and padded closer to the older witch. "Good morning Healer Pomfrey."

"_Ahhh!_ Dear Merlin, children, don't scare me like that!" she exclaimed and waved her wand to hang her cloak, open the dozen curtains and banish her healing bag to her office. "How was your weekend?"

"Er... Exciting?" Harry replied cautiously. He looked around and saw a few portraits still sleeping and snoring, but others were already stirring.

"Madame Pomfrey? Could we have a private consultation with you?" asked Hermione, hoping the healer would understand her true request.

"Certainly, you two are entering that interesting age, I see," the healer said and motioned them into her office. Hermione had blushed deeply red and Harry looked at her questioningly, hoping she could explain what it was Poppy had meant, but his friend ducked her head and ran into the healer's private room.

Once seated, shielded by an strategically placed privacy curtain and surrounded by a silencing ward, Harry and Hermione took their Austral African scrolls from inside their cloaks and showed them to Healer Pomfrey.

"Could the ritual have anything to do with these?" Hermione asked while Poppy read them.

"Oh dear!" the healer exclaimed and looked up from the documents. "Perhaps, but first let's talk this trough, shall we children? Has You-Know-Who attacked you again after midnight of Samhain?"

"Weeell... There was this tiny bit of a giant problem, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said and elbowed Harry to tell the story.

He looked at her and mouthed "Why me?" but was answered with a toothy smile. Relenting, Harry looked up at the healer, "What happened was that, we're sure of this, Voldemort released a giant to kill as many kids as he could without blowing his cover. He's looking for something, something that's too important for him to keep his disguise as Snape."

The healer cringed and tried to accept the use of the Dark Wizard's name, but then shook her head. "Tut-tut, I'm quite accepting of the unfortunate fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has come back from whatever netherworld you banished him a decade ago, Harry. But Severus Snape is most assuredly his same old loathsome self."

"Are you sure Healer Poppy? He's the one that was injured with Quirrell, he's the one that makes my head hurt, he's the one that Hermione saw chanting to jinx my broom!" he said and began to pace the narrow area protected by magic and the privacy curtain.

"And he _is_ particularly evil, too! Professor Snape approached us to return our wands, and actually dropped them _on_ our breakfast plates! I had to clean and polish my wand three times since," complained Hermione while Harry ran a hand over his hair.

Madame Pomfrey remained silent and looked down at Harry, who was now looking intently at the floor. He started mumbling something and finally looked up. "Did the ritual work, Healer Poppy?"

"Better than expected, Harry. Your brief visit swayed many undecided witches to offer their magic and bear the consequences of asking Mother and Magick to protect you, and a certain phoenix added a few tokens of his own."

"Damn it!" said Harry, fisting his hands and pacing the room.

"Harry! What's the matter with-- Oh... I see," she trailed off and sat down. "Professor Snape can't be Voldemort then."

"Not necessarily so. The ritual protects against those wishing you ill, be it through direct intent to harm you or by directly trying to negate your free will. _If_ Severus is possessed or being impersonated by You-Know-Who, which I sincerely doubt, he could still approach and talk to you as long as his intent isn't harmful. But he would find it extremely difficult to attack, incarcerate or coerce you in any way."

That explanation calmed Harry somewhat, and he sat next to Hermione. "How do you explain the toilet I threw at the giant's head, or her use of another witch's wand? That wasn't some invisible protection, we did stuff that we wasn't-- weren't supposed to do!"

"As I explained last month, the ritual's strength comes from all seven witches and seven magical tokens, but it _will_ decrease over time, and it _can_ ultimately be undone if you and I ever wish to part ways, or whenever you wish to break the magical link from each other," she said indicating Harry and Hermione. "You both used some form of Old Magick to survive a life-threatening situation, and please remember never to disclose what has been done, even if it pains you to keep it from your friends."

Neither could imagine _not_ wanting to be together, and voiced their unanimous opinion that they wouldn't undo the ritual unless Madame Pomfrey desired it. They also understood that, while the protective magic wasn't illegal, it was frowned upon in modern wizarding custom because it relies on the participants' magic to defend the protected, and forced a closer relationship between them according to the wording of the ritual itself.

"As for this unexpected development," Madame Pomfrey said and indicated the scrolls, "I'm truly at a loss as to how this came to be, unless... Unless our Magick severed your natural citizenship when I called for freedom of magical bindings. Filius could offer you a better explanation, however seeing as he cannot be consulted, I believe that because the two of you are linked, that magical link allowed the Granger Patriarch, a Muggle brother to a magical tribe, to obtain guardianship over the last member of the Potter family. However, that could only happen if you Hermione, or you Harry, had somehow found yourselves without a true home in Magical Britain."

"Ooops..." the young Gryffindor boy said as the girl smacked herself on the forehead. "Magic _does_ bite you back in the arse, doesn't it?"

"Mr Potter, mind your language, please!" Madame Pomfrey admonished while Hermione's lips curled up in a smug smile. Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"Would declaring the house I have inhabited before coming to Hogwarts as my aunt and uncle's sole property, and believing that home is where Harry is, be considered not having such in British soil?" asked Hermione.

"Or saying that the Dursleys' place isn't and will _never_ be home for me? 'Cause I honestly feel that way," Harry said and pushed his spectacles up his nose.

"Perhaps it could. Hogwarts is charmed not to be considered home to anyone, otherwise we would have permanent student residents during the Summer and many of the wards placed in my house, my true home, wouldn't ever work there, since I spend almost all of my time in the castle." The healer dispelled the privacy measures and ushered the children outside, "You're already late for breakfast. Don't dwell on this as it isn't cause for not attending Hogwarts, and enjoy your day. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Madame Pomfrey," they said together with a smile and walked down the corridor to start the day in earnest.

They kept refusing to tell Ron and Neville what was in the parchment scrolls that had upset them so much and why they thought they weren't British any longer, saying that everything would be talked about after Harry's piano lesson in late afternoon. Ron lost his temper halfway through lunch, but Neville teasing that he was whining like a Dutch baby Olifant put a stop to it.

Hermione had then asked whether there really were elephants in the Netherlands, and Neville's affirmative reply and description of the twelve-feet-tall, woolly, red-furred animal called an Olifant, not an elephant, did nothing to lessen Ron's undeniable likeness to them, particularly when taking into consideration his accidental transfiguration from the beginning of the year.

After another eighty-eight minutes and eighty-eight seconds of nerve-wrecking Potions lesson Harry was free to enjoy one of his most preferred activities in life: performing and creating music on the keyboard. He entered the Concert Room to see two older students shrinking twelve-string lutes and a third finishing some exercises on the concert piano.

The boys who played the medieval string instruments said a quick hello and left while talking about The-Boy-Who-Lived and pointing fingers back at him, but the Gryffindor playing the piano stopped to greet him after glancing at his forehead. "Hello, Potter. I'm glad you arranged for this Musical Arts club. My name's John Moonvail," he said and offered a hand.

"Just call me Harry. And all of this was Professor McGonagall's idea, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So, hmmm... How do you like the Steinway?" Harry asked, trying his best to have a decent conversation despite his nervousness.

The following couple of minutes turned out to be quite enjoyable, as Harry and John traded comments on Steinways, vintage Broadwoods, Kembles and modern Boesendorfers, of which Harry had only ever heard about from his former music teacher, never ever touching any of those instruments himself. Although not nearly as talented as Harry, the older Gryffindor was a half-blood wizard and still wanted to play as a pastime of sorts, and after they parted with a nod to each other, Harry felt less stressed about the revelations he had to make to Ron, Neville and Lisa, and less anguished at having to face the headmaster for being involved, yet again, in some near-disastrous situation.

For an hour and a half, the portrait of Joseph Liszt insisted on tackling more sonatas from Hyperion Hassbin's repertoire, and kept shouting at Harry from the very edge of the frame about arching his hands too much and not treating the keys as if they were Flobberworms to be squeezed for some ignominious potion. He never understood the word ignominious but figured it was something bad, deciding to search the meaning in a dictionary later in the week and surprise Hermione.

"Legato, child! Legato! The vizard is courting a maiden, not trying to slay a basilisk!"

"Thanks Master Liszt," he replied absently and began the twenty-eight bar again, rolling his fingers from key to key as softly and seamlessly as possible.

By the door, a group of young witches and wizards ogled, two thirds wanting to see the controversial Boy-Who-Lived and the rest trying to make their way inside. The three Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw finally made it through as Harry stretched his back and lightly dusted the pianoforte, covering it and waving goodbye at the painted instructor.

"Ready?" Hermione asked with a smile. "I thought it best if we met in this scarcely used room we once visited."

"What room?"

"Honestly, Harry. _The_ room in _the_ corridor?" Watching the clueless look on his face, she added "The one with _fluffy_ couches?"

"Oh, _that_ room! Huh, I'd forgotten about it, sorry."

Five first-years, or midgets as the youngest pupils in school were sometimes called by the upper years, trying to make their way towards the forbidden corridor on the third floor unnoticed was an objective easier desired than accomplished. The corridor was, unfortunately for them, only accessible through the swinging marble stairs of the main staircases, and although the castle had the habit of masquerading doorways and passageways, or simply turning corridors around overnight, Hermione wasn't keen on exploring for another access and wasting what little time they had before detention with Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Lisa, Ron, can you whistle?" she whispered and waited for their answer. "Good, give us three short whistles followed by a long one if there are professors around. You watch the hallway, Ron, while Lisa will keep an eye on the higher stairs."

"What about Filch?"

"Same whistling sequence if _Mr Filch_ or his familiar appear. I don't believe we have to worry about students, unless they're Prefects, but most are still in class at this hour," Hermione said as she looked at the brass timekeeper on the wall.

"Wow, how long have you been planning this?" asked Harry.

"Since yesterday. Now let's go, the staircase is already rumbling."

Neville tripped on his own feet but recovered quickly, embarrassed at the snickering coming from the portrait of an old, bald witch that kept fixing her wig. He then realized the paintings might be a problem, "Ahm... Hermione? Won't the portraits scream and alert someone?"

"That issue can't be helped, but if we make this look as if the stairs left us there by accident, it's as good an alibi as any."

Harry and Hermione avoided the trick step, but Neville had to be hauled up by them as the stairs snapped out of their position and began to move, when whistles reached their ears. Looking down, they saw Ron had busied himself by faking a very one-sided conversation with a square painting of monkeys celebrating a birthday party, complete with cake, candles and streamers, while at the same time Lisa had quickly sat down in a bench and pulled a book from her bag, realized it was upside down and turned it swiftly around just as Professor Sinistra stepped into view.

The witch professor climbed the steps, avoiding the one where one's foot passes through, and joined the three children on the moving landing. They had their hands behind their backs and kept looking anywhere but at the Astronomy teacher, Harry going so far as to start whistling a melody to keep from looking _too_ guilty.

"Flight of the Pixie? My, how refreshing to know the Barkwith classics aren't lost to the new generation," the teacher said and stepped away to climb the next flight of steps as soon as the landing melded with it, a loud squelching sound accompanying the knitting of marble stone.

As soon as she disappeared on the fourth floor, Neville and Hermione released a deep sigh, and Harry looked across the void, willing the castle to move them over there already. "What am I thinking, of course it won't work," he mumbled and leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms.

Lisa and Ron resumed their task, looking out for adults and House Prefects, and soon after a group of Slytherins descended the steps giving them all the evil eye, the staircase rumbled and detached itself. Hermione waved at the two fifths of their group and they ran up to them, anxiously waiting for the landing to place them in line with the forbidden corridor.

"Finally!" exclaimed Hermione, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him behind her. The rest followed her, knowing she was the only one who had never gotten lost in the castle.

The dust and spider webs were somewhat less scary with the faint glow of daylight coming through the scarce leaded-glass windows, and they could see shards of broken benches and portrait frames here and there, as well as the occasional crushed metal of ornaments or suits of armour Fluffy destroyed on his mad chase after Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"This is the one," said Harry, pulling Ron back by his cloak to let Lisa and Hermione enter first. The pentagonal table they had used to write homework was still there, and the large half-circle couch was uncovered as well, just as they had left it.

"What sort of classroom is this?" Lisa asked, looking around and running a hand over the soft, overstuffed velvet sofas and chairs.

"Dunno, but it's in the off-limits areas, so we won't be listened to. And what's more," Harry said and pointed at the walls, "there's no paintings to tell on us."

"Yes, well, let's make this quick in any event, because I truly don't fancy being caught _yet again_ breaking rules. You've been a very bad influence on me, Harry Potter!" exclaimed Hermione, wrinkling her eyebrows and crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry laughed and steered a huffing Hermione to the table, asking the others to pull chairs and sit as well. "Deep down this corridor, where it ends, there is or was a big door with a cerberus behind it. We know his name is Fluffy, and that he's a pet of Hagrid's. We also know he's guarding something, probably from a very bad wizard that all of us wish was truly dead. This murderer has already attacked me once, and the school at large as well, using a giant to do his dirty work, but he ended up in the bathroom where Lisa was and he's probably gone by now."

"That pretty much sums it up," Hermione stated and looked at the confused faces on Neville, Lisa and Ron. "However, please bear with me as I try to explain it all in greater detail."

In greater detail meant spending almost an hour retelling the incidents on the Astronomy Tower, with the giant and with Fluffy the cerberus, the suspicions Headmaster Dumbledore had about Harry and his unconventional connection to Fawkes, the headmaster's own phoenix familiar, who had kidnapped Harry. She never mentioned the Phoenix Dome or his visions, but hinted on the fact they were searching for several myths involving trees made of stone and magical horses, as well as anything to do with someone named Nicholas Flamel, a great Alchemist of their time.

Retelling the attack on Harry's broomstick and trying to convince their audience was difficult, in fact Harry thought Ron didn't believe it, and Lisa wanted proof but the broom itself had gone up in smoke. Neville was taking everything at face value and just excited about being part of the group. After that Lisa helped describe the giant in the dungeons, and how Halloween had turned into a nightmare for her, until Harry and Hermione had barged in and knocked the enraged being out.

They also told Lisa the events of their first Potions lesson, and the Ravenclaw was amazed at the idea of Animagi, agreeing with Hermione that somehow that goo was linked to a latent animal transfiguration ability. But in the end, they reached the topic Harry and Hermione knew was going to make or break their friendship. "We also believe that there are two wizards looking for something very important in the school, the ones that set the giant loose and tried to kill Harry. We believe one of them to be Voldemort himself."

"_Eeek!_" Lisa shrieked and brought her knees to her chest.

Ron's ears went red and he shouted "Don't say that name!" while Neville slipped under the table.

"Listen, I'm not sorry for saying that murderer's name, and Voldemort being here is the only thing that makes sense to explain everything that's happened." Harry said as he stood up and began pacing around them. "The adults won't do anything and won't believe a word I say, so it's up to me and Hermione, and I hope all of you, to keep him from getting what he wants."

"Blimey! You're honest about this, aren't you?" Ron asked with both annoyance and amazement in his voice. "Mum would throw a fit if she'd ever hear you saying You-Know-Who's in Hogwarts..."

"Well, it's time for Lisa, Harry and me to head out for the Headmaster's Office. Help me pull Neville from under the table and please think about what we said. I know we're asking a lot, but... But we _really_ need your help to expose Voldemort." The wooden surface rattled and Lisa let out another shriek, "Oh, honestly, it's just a name!"

They finally wrenched Neville from underneath the table and quietly made their way back out of the forbidden corridor. The castle had shifted the few windows from before into round skylights surrounded by carved stone in the ceiling, and Harry immediately thought they looked way better, but couldn't figure out how light could stream through them if there was supposed to be a fourth floor above their heads.

Shrugging and chalking it up to "magic", Harry followed the group and sighed at the looks Lisa, Ron and Neville were giving him. "Look guys, I never asked for that bastard to come here," he said softly.

"I understand, Harry. Whatever is happening, I'm certain you would never harm another being on purpose, I know it because Hermione and you risked your life to save me from the giant," answered Lisa.

"And we'd have done the same for anyone else," he told Neville and Ron, who nodded uncertainly.

As the landing squelched against the archway, the five looked up and down for Prefects, professors or anyone who might pile yet another detention on them, and surreptitiously made their way out separated in two groups. The larger group went down to the second floor, and the Gryffindor boys headed back to their tower, looking around and jumping with every louder than usual noise on the way.

Hermione knew from reading in Hogwarts: A History that the Headmaster's Office was guarded by gargoyles, however that was as far as her knowledge of it went. Gargoyles weren't uncommon in Hogwarts, but these were the only ones on the second floor, and the fact one of them swivelled its head towards them was encouraging. "Well, we're off to see the wizard then," she said and took a deep breath. Looking up at the ugly gargoyle, she announced "Harry Potter, Lisa Turpin and Hermione Granger to serve detention with Headmaster Dumbledore."

The marble statue stared, and Hermione stared back, and yet it did nothing else. Harry tried to knock on it with his left hand but was shooed away with a wing made of stone, and Lisa began thinking that perhaps it was protected by a riddle, like The Wise Knocker that guarded the Ravenclaw Common Room.

"I do enjoy Bowling Bonbons," the amused voice of the elderly headmaster announced from above their heads, making the guardian spring to a side and reveal an entrance, "no matter how hard they are on one's teeth. Alas, Honeyduke's on Hogsmeade only offers them during tenpin season, to my everlasting sorrow."

While Hermione looked up at Dumbledore with curiosity etched on her face, Harry tried to look past the mistrust he had for grown-ups, and beyond the hurt he felt from many of the headmaster's actions towards him. He wished he could simply come out and tell him Voldemort was teaching Potions in his school, but he also knew his friend was right, that they needed absolute proof first.

Lisa kept looking down at her shoes instead, partly ashamed and dreading the letter she had to write her parents, but also pondering on everything she learned a few minutes ago. "Although Granger seems to be the commanding voice, it's Potter's will that she follows, and he was trying to give the Longbottom and Weasley boys the choice to be friends to him, instead of simply demanding them to keep quiet and follow him against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she thought to herself.

Yes, perhaps being attacked by a giant was the best thing that could have happened to her, for these two were certainly strange, odd people, but their hearts were noble and they truly cared for others.

"After you, young pupils," the headmaster said, interrupting Lisa's thoughts, and she joined Hermione and Harry on a stone step that began to move upwards in a spiral while Dumbledore took a dainty step to stand on the one below them.

They reached a set of mahogany wooden doors and Harry had all the confirmation he needed about this being the office he had been brought to by Professor McGonagall. "Sir? Is the... The mirror still in there?" he asked, wary of meeting that hollow, empty image of his mum and dad.

With a pained grimace, the headmaster bent a little forward, "No, my boy. It has been moved away, safely stored somewhere else."

"Good to know, sir. I don't want Hermione or Lisa to have to see what they can't ever have."

"Again, I ask your forgiveness for subjecting you to face your greatest desire, one that you could never fulfil. However please understand that I'm bound to keep a prophet, to have mirrors so magical and to carry ever-filled purses, after all," Dumbledore said with a chuckle.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the old wizard, wondering what was so funny, and allowed Hermione to push him forward to let her and Lisa step out of the revolving stairs and onto the darkened landing.

Headmaster Dumbledore pouted under his white whiskers, for it looked as if Harry's passion for music did not include the Savoy Operas, which made his little joke fall flat due to lack of recognition. "Alas, the one Muggle magic I can truly enjoy," he commiserated to himself and immediately decided to instruct the portrait of Master Joseph Liszt to teach the boy about those great composers, who established the English operetta and made the world a much brighter place.

The heavy doors opened with a wave of the headmaster's hand and he motioned for the three children to enter, before walking to a cluttered desk and sitting in the lone, ancient-looking chair behind it. He then removed half-moon spectacles from his crooked nose and wiped them with his beard, allowing the trio to take their seats.

Gaping at the headmaster's odd lens cleaning habit, Harry sat silently in the middle chair of three, facing the large desk and leaving a chintz upholstered chair open on either side for his best friend Hermione and his newest friend Lisa.

After a soft cough, Headmaster Dumbledore replaced his spectacles and observed the three first-years for a moment, just long enough to make them even more nervous before picking a crystal bowl filled with candy in his hand, offering it to them. "Lemon drops?"

Harry thought about it but refused with a soft "no thank you," and although Lisa did take one from the bowl, Hermione also refused politely while looking for something inside her pockets. A moment later, she placed a very small cube on the table.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, would you care for a marshmallow? They're shrunk though," she indicated and sat back.

"Thank you, my dear," Dumbledore said and picked his wand, softly twirling it clockwise over the sugar-cube-sized box. It then grew into a rather big cardboard box, roughly half the size of a standard student's trunk, filled to the brim with plastic bags of sweets. Hermione blushed in embarrassment, never imagining her uncle had sent _so much_ candy! "How delightful, should we try these coloured ones first?" the old wizard asked and, upon receiving a silent yet enthusiastic nod, cut open one of the bags with his wand and put a marshmallow in his mouth.

Harry and Lisa helped put the box by the floor, on the left side of the table, and Hermione offered the open bag to them in turn. Once the second round was over, with Lisa refusing the marshmallow because she was still savouring her lemon drop, the three children waited for Dumbledore to speak.

"Before we begin, is there anything you wish to ask regarding the incident on All Hallows Eve?"

Straightening up, Hermione began her barrage of questions. "Is the giant all right? He seemed to be out of sorts, much too irrational, and Hagrid is anything but smart and kind in comparison. What made this larger giant that way? Have you found out how he entered the school? What could he have been after, sir?"

"Astoundingly perceptive of you, dear girl. Yes, Knud the Eyeful is quite recovered from his ordeal, and he was indeed under the effects of what is called the Draught of Dementia, a terrible philtre that renders the imbiber insane and violent. Also, may I impose on you to please keep your suspicion of Hagrid's heritage close to your chest? Such information can pose him one too many difficulties," he asked back, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. The smile faded, however, when Harry insisted on an answer to the latter questions.

"But how'd he get inside the castle? Someone must have let him in," Harry said and looked at Lisa, who was shaking a little. "My new friend Lisa could've died if it wasn't for us!"

Hermione gasped and slapped her forehead, because Harry had just confirmed Lisa hadn't spoken the truth of what happened that night.

"Alas, your friend clearly told us all that the giant Knud had, in her words, banged his head on the ceiling and fallen. Did I hear things wrong perhaps?" the headmaster said, holding on to this new diversion in order to keep from answering that there were giants guarding the Philosopher's Stone, but somehow one of them had found the potions cache for another set of protections, drunk from the many storage cauldrons, and wandered out of their assigned quarters in a dazed frenzy.

"Oh... Er... I'm sorry sir. The thing is that I told Lisa I don't like lies, and though I feel like you won't believe me, what happened was that me and Hermione trapped the giant inside that lavatory, but then we didn't know Lisa was in there, and we heard her scream and... And Hermione used Lisa's wand to try and knock him out with his own weapon, but in the end it was me throwing a broken toilet at his face that put him down. Am I gonna get expelled?"

Although Harry had retold his tale quite rapidly, the old wizard had understood each and every word, while also making judicious use of the Mind Arts. "Merlin's socks," thought Dumbledore, "They suspect Voldemort himself walks within these walls, under the guise of Severus Snape no less! What makes them believe such nonsense?" He toned down the passive Legillimency and sat against his high-backed chair, looking intently at them.

The children sat uneasy, tense and expectant. Dumbledore could feel Harry's mistrust and fear, glimpses of an obese man and a banshee screaming at him passed through the cloud of emotions without need for focused Mind Magic. "You fear me," the headmaster finally said and Harry looked up at him. "You have surely known violence from your elders and perhaps from your peers as well. I need no Legilimency to realize this, and I can only offer you a promise that I will _never_ raise a hand against you, Harry."

Harry remained silent, averting his eyes from the headmaster after a few seconds. To his left, Hermione sighed and took his hand in hers, showing her support with a simple touch, but it was Lisa who spoke on Harry's defence. "Sir, it was my fault being in the lavatory and ignoring the call to the Common Rooms. If I had been more attentive, Mr Potter and Ms Granger would have done the school a great service by corralling the giant as they did."

"Very well, Lisa. Your punishment will stand as it is. In answer to your question, my boy, you are in no danger of expulsion. Furthermore, once again it is my duty to tell you all that you can contact your respective Head of House to present a written or verbal reclamation to the Hogwarts Board of Governors," Headmaster Dumbledore answered while nodding and then plucked another marshmallow for himself. He understood that Harry would not speak to him about what he glimpsed inside the boy's mind, about what had made him fear physical blows and have complete distrust for adult men and women. But the girl, Hermione, surely knew or suspected something in that regard.

He also refrained from enlightening the children that their complaints would surely be dismissed by the Board of Governors, for they were submitted by a mostly foreign Nordic family, a Muggle-born witch and the headmaster could easily downplay Harry's complaint to keep him out of trouble, and out of sight. And humble, naturally.

Dumbledore had truly hoped for a meek Harry Potter that would fall into place as needed, giving Fate and Prophecy free reign over him; he was expected to come into the magical world awed and to attach himself to Wizarding Britain as if his life depended on it, contrary to the life of a Muggle where he was abused and neglected. "He _must_ die to fulfil prophecy, for neither can live while the other survives. Worse of all, he _must_ be persuaded to face Lord Voldemort, for either must die at the hand of the other."

Troubled, he sighed and lowered his face in thought. "Harry must develop the power he knows not first, before he confronts his fated foe. Is it some unknown magick of old? Or perhaps something more fundamental within us all, love for instance?" He came to regret relying on second-hand telling of young Harry's well-being, for had Dumbledore been aware of what events gave him such strong will and experience of adult flaws and treachery, the headmaster would have done everything in his power to keep Harry safely hidden inside his home, perhaps going so far as to ward him from going to Muggle school.

"Alas, it was a necessity, condemning him to grow under such conditions, ignorant of his true self. A hard choice among many possibilities, for despite his sealed fate the outcome of it remains uncertain. Will vanquishing the Dark Lord bring forth an end to Evil, or will it mark the final breath of the Light?

"Do I even _have_ the right to facilitate his prophesied destiny?" Dumbledore asked himself, not for the first time since hearing those terrible words out of Sybil Trelawney's mouth.

"Evil _must_ be defeated for the good of all magical beings. However, can I afford to do what is right, and allow Harry Potter to forge his own path in life? Have I even grasped a correct interpretation of the prophecy itself?" His endless musings, however, were interrupted by the very boy he was wondering about.

"Headmaster, sir? Are you spacing out or feeling out of sorts?" asked Harry, truly concerned for the wizard. "I learned in school that when old people have trouble focusing, we should call medical assistance. D'you want me to find Healer Poppy for you?"

Lisa and Hermione had been focused on the many books and whirring, clinking and steaming trinkets in the room, but when the Gryffindor girl heard him calling Headmaster Dumbledore _old people_ of all things, she almost snapped her neck to send him a glare for his lack of tact.

"No my boy, I was simply deliberating in silence. I thank you for your concern, it shows you have a very kind heart."

"Are you sure? You were kind of staring at nothing back then," Harry insisted and then remembered the wizard's ability to catch thoughts and memories with a glance. "Where you doing that Leg-a-minty thing on us again, then?"

"Harry, mind your tone!" admonished Hermione, "The headmaster would tell us if he had need to probe our minds. Wouldn't you sir?"

Guiltily, the old wizard coughed and began playing with his long beard. "Must I reassure you that passive Legillimency is a harmless disciplining tool, however little known it may be?"

"That doesn't answer the question, sir. And besides, if you've managed to see what I'm thinking or what I've done, then you know that Voldemort..."

"Eeek!"

"...is the one that set the giant on the school! Hell, he actually told us he was gonna do it!" Harry said, and then turned to Lisa. "Sorry Lisa, but it _really is_ just a name, you know?"

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore tried to explain. "Little did I perceive from you, other than your suspicion regarding Lord Voldemort..."

"Eeek!" Lisa shrieked again, and Harry shook his head while wiping his right ear with a finger. It kept on ringing, though.

"...and whatever bad experiences you have had in your childhood. I assure you, not even _he_ would ever be foolish enough to invade this castle or impersonate a professor as subterfuge," he explained, convinced his word alone was enough to allay Harry's fears and destroy his ridiculous thoughts.

Harry turned to look at his friend, Hermione, who had her lower lip trapped under her teeth. "Thank you for correcting us, headmaster," she said and discretely raised the fingers on her free hand, telling Harry to drop the subject. She also wrinkled her nose, and Harry knew that a clearer sign that something was fishy hadn't been invented yet in either magical or Muggle worlds.

Oblivious to their silent communication, the headmaster began devising more ways to test the child of prophecy and discover his potential power, beyond the evident magical nexus he and the Gryffindor girl carried inside. That Harry would ignite the alchemical effluvium within Nicholas' Magical Affinity Revealing Ball of Liquid Energy even further was a given after having contact with Fawkes, but little Hermione, a Muggle-born no less, sparking such an intense reaction from the M.A.R.B.L.E. had been a surprise to him. Such fascinating individuals they were!

"There are few certainties I could offer as to how the the two of you managed to defeat Knud the Eyeful in combat. You, Hermione, have perhaps an affinity to the fundamental magic inside Lisa's wand, and it may explain your use of it. As for Harry's sudden burst of strength, it isn't unusual for children who mature slowly to show accidental magic until past their first decade of life," explained Dumbledore.

Harry took offence to the headmaster's words and was about to complain but the headmaster was poised to continue speaking, so he resorted to mumble "I'm not immature, I'm just small for my age" under his breath.

"I admit to being surprised by you children. It has been too long since I last had the pleasure of handling detention with pupils... In fact, my last experience of this kind was with someone who, suffice it to say, is no longer welcome within these walls," the wizard explained with a sad smile. "Alas, detentions are supposed to be learning experiences, and this time it seems I am the one to learn, and you the ones to teach!"

A burst of fire above them made Harry dive to the floor and protect his head with both hands, while Lisa shrieked and Hermione snorted at her friend's reaction. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, blinking repeatedly to clear the spots in his eyes and also in surprise of how jumpy the boy had reacted.

"Ah, my good friend Fawkes has seen fit to regal us with one of his majestic entrances, I see," the headmaster commented and the phoenix landed softly on a perch behind the desk. Fawkes looked around and sniggered at Harry, who was standing up and sitting back on his chair, before focusing on the open bag of marshmallows.

Hermione noticed this and picked an orange coloured sweet in her fingers, throwing it at the magical bird. "Here you go, Fawkes."

"Really now, Ms Granger, phoenixes never accept treats from-- Oh my!"

With great agility, Fawkes plucked the marshmallow on the air with his bill and, holding it gently, roasted the sweet with a burst of fire before gulping it down and trilling in contentment. The phoenix ruffled its feathers and settled itself to sleep, not really fooling anyone by tucking his head under a wing since his visible eye was wide open.

"It seems he liked it, Headmaster Dumbledore," said Hermione as she offered more marshmallows around.

"Yes... It appears to be so." Dumbledore answered softly, frowning at his companion. A phoenix needs no nourishment in the shape of food, rather it lives forever _because_ it is an embodiment of positive emotions made magic. Love, hope, kindness, for as long as there is good in the world, there will be phoenixes roaming the skies.

"Sir?" Harry called for the headmaster's attention. "When you found me under the rubble that had been my home, did you see Voldemort's body too?"

Anticipating Lisa's shriek, Harry had covered his right ear with a hand. The sound had been shorter now, but she kept shaking. The Gryffindor boy knew he was pushing his luck, and Hermione's miffed face said just how much, but he needed confirmation of his true life, that the lies told by the Dursleys were exactly that: vicious lies.

"My dear boy. Your family should have known better than to retell such sad events. I urge you to look towards the future, not to dwell on the past, which brings nothing but pain." The headmaster replied softly, avoiding the complicated issues of why _him_, why _then_, and why _both_ survived.

"I have no family, Mr Dumbledore. Those people I've been living with couldn't care less anyway, all they ever told me was that my parents were useless drunkards who died in a car crash," Harry answered heatedly. "And what's wrong with wanting to know about my past? I know those dark wizards called Deadly Easters killed my grandparents too, I've dealt with it and I'd enjoy knowing more about the Potters, about my _true_ family."

Dumbledore winced at the resentment he could feel coming from the boy, resentment that fuelled anger, a feeling that could lead to hate and the darkness of evil. "He must remain protected, no matter what they do to him, Harry must be kept safe," he repeated inside his mind.

"Death Eaters, Harry. They're called Death Eaters," Hermione explained and faced the headmaster. "Sir, you are right that it's a sad and terrible thing to dwell on tragedies past, but unlike myself, Harry had no idea about his family history. Those dark wizards wronged him as much as they did dozens of families, my elder friend Miranda Morewitt's for example, and every survivor should honour their family, not pretend they never existed."

"Mrs Morewitt, you say? Alas, it was in memory of an old friend that I proposed several changes to the school! You must realize, Hogwarts was until recently quite less demanding in its courses, and we had much fewer Quidditch matches as well," the wizard added with a smile, glad to divert their attention from Harry's questioning once more. "The reason I convinced a reluctant Board of Governors to reform a centuries-old perfectly working system over the years, is that I personally lost a dear friend who was adamantly in favour of giving young witches and wizards the chance to experience all the Magical Arts first, and decide which ones to pursue as a career as they grow older."

Dumbledore looked at Hermione over his half-moon spectacles, "That friend was named Bragna Morewitt, your older friend's late husband, with whom I shared a singular passion for puzzles and trinkets of all sorts," he told her and waved an arm around the office, causing Hermione, Lisa and Harry to take a deeper look at the many spinning, twirling and puffing objects scattered on shelves and side tables.

"Huh... Hermione, you oughta show him your puzzle, maybe he knows why it does what it does?" Harry whispered in her ear, already back into a merrier mood, despite feeling miffed out of the headmaster's constant change of subject, never answering his questions.

She smiled and started to look for it in one of her many cloak pockets, her wild hair falling all over her face in the process. With a satisfied grunt, she pulled the silver trinket and placed it on the table. "Harry, simple spells only so we don't get into _trouble_," she whispered.

Remembering what he had read about the Tribble Twins, he nodded and used a levitation spell on a marshmallow and directed it to Fawkes, who despite pretending to be asleep, raised his head and roasted the sweet in mid-air, gulping it down afterwards. Lisa and Headmaster Dumbledore looked confused, but then both of them exclaimed merrily as Hermione began casting the same spell in tandem with her friend, modifying it to her likeness.

"Sugarivium Leviosa!" she cast and made the textbook movements along with her modified incantation, while Harry repeated his "Wingardium Leviosa", but allowed his wand to weave his magic with the least amount of resistance, completely disregarding the motions they had learned in Charms class. It simply _felt_ right to do it this way instead.

The show of bright lights and sounds, of soothing clanging bells and tinkling crystal goblets in rapid succession with every swish and flick of the wands drew gasps and comments from the elder wizard and their newest Ravenclaw friend.

"Splendid!" said Dumbledore, "Absolutely marvellous!"

Lisa was a bit more contemporary, exclaiming "That's so wicked!" and then blushing for her outburst.

Fawkes, however, was giving the speeding airborne marshmallow the evil eye, because it kept zooming over his head but much too fast for him to catch it. With an annoyed trill, the phoenix flapped his wings and left his perch, whacking Harry on the back of the head before vanishing in a bright burst of fire.

Dumbledore sat back on his chair and began playing with his beard, splitting the long white locks in two and then looping them around, tying them in a fancy celtic knot and staring at it appraisingly. "May I hazard a guess that you have achieved _noticeable_ results when performing similar magic together?"

Gasping, Hermione elbowed her friend and hoped he wouldn't get angry and defensive again. Truth be told, she was seriously considering asking Healer Pomfrey whether that sentient magic in his head was causing him to be so unbalanced, but then again the headmaster himself didn't come across as much of a balanced individual either. The knotted beard clearly exemplifying it.

She saw Harry nod and Headmaster Dumbledore smile, but Lisa looked confused. Hermione wondered how their new friend was coping with the information overload, from getting involved with them in a life-or-death situation to the fact the greatest wizard alive was spending detention time in conversation instead of ordering them to do classwork or simply reprimanding them. "She's a Pureblooded witch, which makes Harry and me even stranger to her, but she was kind on board the Hogwarts Express, and she surely has the strength of character to defy her House Rules and expose the apparent shame of having mixed-House parents," she mused silently.

"Yeah, sometimes... What do you know about that, sir?" Harry asked, wary of the man's intentions.

"Achieving more than what is expected can be a wonderful thing. But is it necessarily more than what is intended? Alas, these are the foundations of ritualistic magic after all, the augmentation of a single spell by the combined powers of several magical people acting together in harmony."

"So... This isn't too weird or strange? I mean, you won't be shipping us to the Ministry to be used as lab rats, will you?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione coughed and raised her hand out of habit. "What my blunt friend means, headmaster, is that I've read of several cases where children displaying unusual abilities were taken away from their families and from the school."

Dumbledore was fascinated, he had just recognized the need to look at these children as individuals worthy of consideration, capable of surprising him in several ways, which in turn had planted doubt in his plans for young Harry, derailing years of constant research and planning, and now they pointedly taught him of how resourceful young wizards can be. "How does she know of the Ostenoir and Tribble siblings? How much more have they procured to learn, to dabble in, to conquer in an attempt to become the bravest lions of Gryffindor?

"This will not do. Such was the path of young Riddle and I will not stand by and let innocent children be swayed by the Darkness," Dumbledore decided, subtly raising his wand and steeling himself to use the Mind Arts on the trio.

For all his power and knowledge, Albus Dumbledore barely managed to feel the magic around Harry and Hermione flare against his intrusion, reminding him he had promised to brew camomile tea for the unicorns of the Forbidden Forest.

In fact, he only came back to his senses due to an insistent pulling on his sleeve, and found himself standing outside the spiralling stairs being watched intently by three young faces and two very ugly marble gargoyles. "I was about to prepare some tea... Tea for the unicorns..." The first-years jumped when their headmaster let out a hearty laugh that devolved into sniggering and a few hiccups after a minute or so.

"Hmmm... Are you alright, sir?" asked Harry, looking askance at the old wizard.

"Yes, yes, quite well. Forgive an old man's foolishness, Harry, and do join me upstairs again. You too, little ladies," he added at the indignant pose Hermione had assumed, miffed at not being invited as well.

"Hermione!" whispered Lisa, "What just happened? How did you Confund the headmaster?"

"What? I didn't do anything! It was Harry's doing, most likely," she replied matter-of-factly.

They followed Dumbledore, who was actually _skipping_ upstairs, and watched as the wizard melded their chairs together into a long couch, which he then flipped around to face the big hearth instead of the table. The headmaster waved for them to sit and started pacing back and forth, eyes half lidded in concentration.

"In times of old, when wizards were mages and the world was vast and full of wondrous unknowns, ancient tribes would call upon the magick of their fathers and their gods for healing their brethren, for waging war and for protecting their families," he spoke and conjured a plush, gaily upholstered chair to sit on. "These magicks were dealt with through tokens, symbols of the many facets of human nature such as strength, love, joy, or their opposites called weakness, hatred and despair.

"Mage tribes were so attuned to their fundamental magick, they could create permanent enchantments on temple stones to channel these energies and empower their combined spells and their blood rituals. Some of them have withstood the test of time and still exist to these days, such as the Guild of the Great Goddess and the Shadow College, to name a few who are spoken of in hushed whispers and deemed as little more than myth within our midst." He paused and looked imperiously down at the three pupils, "My boy, you are protected by a sacrifice of love, a powerful ancient magic, perpetuated by the blood in your veins. And that power is strong enough to send me on a fools' errand serving tea to unicorns!"

"Owww... I'm _so_ gonna be locked away as a Ministry lab-rat now," Harry moaned and buried his face in his hands.

That wasn't the reaction Dumbledore had expected at all. Young Harry should have been happy to know he is protected in such a wonderful way, and it should have made him happy to know he was capable of withstanding magic aimed at his mind. One of his thought threads even hinted at the possibility of young Harry being able to resist the Imperius Unforgivable Curse! "It will be harder to control and supervise his development, yet this presents a broad new wealth of possibilities to explore," he thought to himself.

"I'm certain we could ask Headmaster Dumbledore to keep this information close to his chest," Hermione spoke, throwing the old wizard's own words at him and making him wince. "Perhaps we could even avoid drawing unnecessary attention to unexplained bewildered giants rampaging around the dungeons?"

Lisa found it scandalous to see Headmaster Dumbledore being so accommodating to Harry and Hermione, allowing them to talk back to him like this, but then she remembered everything they had revealed to her that afternoon. Yes, perhaps they were right and Professor Snape _did_ release that giant on purpose, and the headmaster should heed their warning. But the great Albus Dumbledore dismissed it faster than her Great-great-grandpa Ulric would throw clothes at a lazy House-Elf! She decided to follow her heart, and added her voice to Hermione's defence of the Boy-Who-Lived. "Sir? Will Harry be granted the Ministry's award for defeating a classified Dark Creature? You could actually claim his weapon as spoils of conquest," she added looking at the boy sitting between her and Hermione.

Dumbledore's eyes snapped wide open and he blanched at the thought of the Ministry for Magic acknowledging Harry's prowess. It would put the child in a very noticeable position to be targeted by Voldemort followers, not to mention the fact they would deeply scrutinize his requirement for giants as study material for D.A.D.A. classes, which was less than half of their purpose after all. Guarding the Philosopher's Stone against the person or persons who tried to steal it from Gringotts was their most important duty.

But then Lisa slumped in her chair, "Oh, but I guess it won't happen, since you aren't British any longer."

"_What?!_" Dumbledore yelled and almost fainted this time.

Startled, the three pupils jumped a few inches on the air and tried to remain as still as possible. The headmaster ran to his desk and pulled a drawer open, from where he removed a long wooden box. He then ripped a piece of parchment from some haphazard document he had on a pile to his left, opened the box and removed a ragged, half broken quill which he placed next to the torn slip of stretched goat skin.

A tap of his wand and the quill sprung into action, standing on the air poised to write. He spoke to it clearly, "Home address for Harry Potter, Gryffindor."

The magic of The Quill was so strong that they could actually feel it washing over their skin and, oddly enough, smell it in the form of a strong peppermint scent. The Quill wavered a little and then began to glide over the piece or parchment, writing in bright, green ink.

_Mr Harry J. Potter_

_Homeless_

Dumbledore sighed, it seemed _nothing_ about Harry Potter would be as he had expected it to be. Now he didn't even have a home! Not to mention the family blood ties that protected him in Surrey had likely vanished as well! He waved his wand lazily and the couch where the three children sat spun around to face him. "Would you care to explain, Harry?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry shrugged and looked up at the harried wizard. "We got some letters," he said and fished for his scroll, while Hermione imitated him, handing both documents to their headmaster.

They gave the professor time to read through the documents, and meanwhile Lisa continued to observe several of the portraits hung on the walls, some leaning against bookcases or tucked among books and parchment rolls. She soon quenched her curiosity and looked over Harry's messy-haired head, looking at Hermione as she chewed on her thumb, "Must be a Muggle custom," she thought. "Oh, I wonder if she could find me a lite-bob that works. Mother said Muggles use those blown glass and metal things to illuminate their huts, but no matter how much I shake it, mine doesn't spark at all!"

The headmaster made to speak but Hermione raised her hand and beat him to it. "Sir, is that quill you used _The Quill_ some of our classmates spoke about? What was that strong magic that tingled on the surface of my skin, and why can't we feel something like that around the castle as well? Is there a problem regarding Harry's and my change of citizenship? I hope not, because Harry and I would love to continue our schooling at Hogwarts. How does this affect the protections you mentioned around Harry? Or are they totally unrelated to this?"

Blinking at the barrage of questions and Hermione's ability to string long sentences without breathing, Dumbledore straightened up on his chair. He knew children were naturally curious, for he remembered being the same, and truth be told he still was a wizard driven by curiosity who continued to find wonder in the simplest and most elemental of things. "Just like them," he mused, looking at the three pupils.

The old wizard had spent decades dismissing children as simple beings with meaningless desires and underdeveloped minds, but this evening he felt ashamed for doing so. Young Potter was fascinating in his own right, and while little Ms Granger had been surprisingly interesting, it was the Ravenclaw's wit in finding a smart and subtle way to corner him that showed how wrong he had been.

"Could every child have something special, something wonderful to give to those who take the time to listen?" Headmaster Dumbledore decided to share more time with them; not only with Harry, but with as many of his pupils as he could. In his time not even Heads of House were as available to the students as they were nowadays, and he had personally never had a conversation with the Headmaster of Hogwarts in all seven years he spent in school. Nor had he known of former Headmaster Dippet to ever commune with youngsters other than for serious punishments or school honours during his tenure, for that matter.

"In answer to your first question my child, yes this is The Quill indeed. First charmed by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, to reveal all contact information pertaining to young witches and wizards. Without it, Hogwarts would fail to reach for many pupils who would otherwise grow without proper education," he explained kindly. "In turn, it is The Book which reveals the names of every witch and wizard of Hogwarts age and their... Well, their resources both financial and magical, thus determining whether or not he or she merits an Invitation. And finally, there's The Hat, with which you three have been already acquainted to, and its purpose is to sort pupils into different Houses according to their personalities.

"Now then, I cannot stress enough how deeply troubled I am by the magical severance you both have somehow achieved," he said looking at Hermione and Harry, avoiding the use of Legillimency lest he be forced to spend five o'clock tea among the herds of the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore's ever-weaving mind had offered him several explanations, the most unfortunate being that Lord Voldemort had somehow tempted him into joining him through the Raven-cursed witch, Hermione. "Home is where your family lives. You are safe there, Harry, and your mother's sister has the same blood, the same amazingly strong protections you carry inside. Would you recant your thoughts and consider the place you have spent your childhood true home again?"

Harry snorted and then winced at the dirty look Hermione threw at their headmaster, hoping he would never be on the receiving end of one. "Not a chance, Mr Dumbledore. Those people hate me and I've always wondered why they'd never thrown me out, but now I know. It's the blood protection thing. They _know_, don't they? They've _always_ known the truth about my parents, and that there's dark wizards called Death Eaters..." he stressed the words to let Hermione know he could remember them correctly "...who'd kill _them_ because Petunia Dorothea happens to be my aunt! And because _I_ killed their boss or whatever!"

"Please, my boy, do not think yourself a murderer for you have never killed anyone," Dumbledore said softly and tried to placate the ill-tempered boy. "I'm sorry for the many fanciful stories retelling exploits of a wonderful event that put an end to terror unimaginable, of which you are the main character. Our magical community was eager to make you the hero they needed, however I assure you Lord Voldemort..."

Everyone turned to Lisa, who trembled and closed her eyes, but didn't shriek as she had before.

"...was vanquished by the love your mother had for you, sacrificing herself willingly. You had _no_ murdering intent of your own, nor did your mother, who would never use her magic to end another life, not even that of her worst enemy. In regards to your family, I did leave a letter attached to your blanket, explaining what I believe happened that tumultuous night. Naturally it was written in terms they could understand, for they are Muggles after all."

Clenching his fists and closing his eyes, Harry focused on the pain of his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms and took deep, even breaths. His friend Hermione had been right, Dumbledore was the one who knew what happened the night his mum and dad died, and only he could have taken him away from under Vernon and Petunia's roof because he was the one who condemned him to live there in the first place!

He made to speak but, again, was beat to it by Hermione, whose dark eyes were now almost coal-black narrowed slits.

"Headmaster? Is it too presumptuous of me to ask you to please stop deflecting our questions and distracting us from our concerns? I'm sure Harry and Lisa are thankful for your kindness and conversational style of detention, and so am I, but... But the truth of the matter is that we're caught in a whirlwind of mistrust, disbelief and unknowns. Harry has trouble trusting any adult, you sir do not believe us at all and we have endless questions about our magic, Harry's past, and the weird happenings at Hogwarts. Did you know the Phoinix Tholos that is now inside the Owlery hasn't been seen in over three centuries, ever since it was rumoured to have been spotted in the Western Indies? How about the fact a very powerful mage managed to wipe an attempt on Harry's life from the memory of _everyone_ in school except for my friend, Madame Pomfrey and me?"

Dumbledore lifted a furry eyebrow and sighed. "I may deal in powerful magic and old myth, my girl, yet I have never claimed to be either omniscient or perfect. Far from it, in fact. I have denied answers to some questions because you aren't privy to any answers I might have," he raised his right hand to stop Hermione and Harry from speaking. "And because they cannot be trusted to young, unprepared minds, no matter how unique and interesting such minds are. I would tell you my reticence stems from a desire to grant you, Harry, the chance at a normal, enjoyable childhood... Alas, while that is undeniably truth, the former reasons stand first and foremost."

As silence fell, the headmaster weaved the less plausible threads of possible outcomes of the evening inside his mind. "Curious. I fear the worst has come to pass and yet, despite this, I feel liberated. Turpin, Granger and Potter have taught this old coot something precious today, and I _will_ value their efforts, allowing them freedom to carve their own path to destiny." With another sigh, he tapped his wand to the worn-out quill and tried, again, to magically unveil a home address for Harry. Dumbledore may have been pushed back due to the oddly strong magical protections, but he would always strive to master the many threads of Harry's fate.

Opposite the table, the trio displayed their reactions to Dumbledore's words. They had confused Harry, made Hermione huff quietly and intrigued Lisa, thus each of the first-years had her or his interpretation of them and mused over it while the old wizard tried The Quill once more. Harry understood the gist of it as the typical grown-up opinion of kids: they know nothing, and must do as adults say. "If he doesn't tell me anything, I'll find out myself," he concluded.

Next to him, Hermione fumed and chewed on a green marshmallow. "Unprepared minds, he says. Well, he _is_ the greatest wizard in the world so he _must_ be correct about that. That decides it then, I'll prepare our minds to be ready for that knowledge!"

Lisa was perched on the edge of the couch by Harry's right side, worrying her fingers and struggling to adjust to a world turned upside down. "Mighty Odin, Merlin and Canute, what sort of labyrinth have I fallen into? This calls for a good pillaging of the Hogwarts Library in order to find our way trough."

The evening had finally faded into a partially clouded night, and while detention had been both unusual and stressful for all parties involved, the ambient tension seemed to sink along with the temperature outside. The old headmaster had been thoroughly shaken by unexpected events, something for which he blamed no one but himself due to him considering a much too narrow set of possibilities, and also pleased to have been shown to a new and exciting view of his hundreds of pupils.

Smiling in anticipation under his white, untied beard, the Headmaster of Hogwarts decided to push the old magic around them, just one last time and enjoy the results.

Five minutes later, three children walked back to their respective Common Rooms shaking their heads, having witnessed the world's greatest wizard exit the castle with bouncing steps and start _chirping_ and _clucking_ under the trees leaning from the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, fruitlessly trying to coax a flock of owls to eat some lemon drops off his open hand. Detention was truly an strange affair when served under Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

Notes:  
1.- Ron is convinced all Weasleys are Gryffindors, but he doesn't know that his grandfather's wife, Cerella, was (is?) a Black and a Slytherin herself. I didn't want to put this in the middle of the chapter because it makes for a better read if Ron is shown the truth later on, but I also wish to clarify that it's a deliberate bit of misinformation.

2.- This chapter gives an omniscient view of the main characters, because while in the original universe of Harry Potter the fun was in trying to unravel the mysteries surrounding Voldemort, Harry and Dumbledore, most of us already know the facts, and the joy of fan-fiction writing is twisting those facts while hopefully creating an entertaining story out of that!

3.- Title is a reference to a play by Gilbert and Sullivan called The Sorcerer, more specifically to its most famous ditty. It's too long to reproduce here, but it goes "Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells, I'm a dealer in magic and spells," and so on. Watch it on DVD, web-video or your nearest theatre if you can, because although it isn't Gilbert and Sullivan's best work by a long shot, it's definitely worth it!


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